


Triskele

by Shulik



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Faith needs a real family, M/M, wolves are sassy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:56:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shulik/pseuds/Shulik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lone wolf dies while the pack survives. </p><p>This is war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fifteen years of doing this, packing and moving, constantly in motion, make it a habit for her now. She folds her clothes with mechanical, steady movements- doesn’t marvel at the fact that her hands don’t shake. She’s learned how to keep steady even in the face of death, descending into hell with a bunch of scared girls and an eternity of monsters howling in their mad rush to end her life.

This, this shouldn’t compare.

Yet, it does. Some part of her, that small, hidden spark of hers that’s allowed her to claw her way back to life after a coma, numerous concussions, more bleed-outs than the average ER doctor will see in his lifetime- it quivers, that spark, shakes and shudders in her chest, echoes all the way down into the base of her spine with dull, painful beats.

“You going to be okay?” Buffy sits in the large armchair beside the oak dresser. At thirty two, they’re officially the oldest living slayers recorded. Both Buffy and her have been doing this for sixteen years, six of them with only each other to understand what being a slayer is all about.

“Yeah,” Faith shrugs, keeps moving. “I mean, it’s not like they’ve been in my life, so there’s nothing to lose really. I’ll be fine,” she throws Buffy one of her old grins, wicked and a little mean looking, “you know me. Always five by five.”

When Buffy frowns like that, the little crow’s feet beside her eyes become more pronounced. It gives Faith a sick kind of pleasure to see that Buffy has been just as affected by the passage of time as her. They’re still faster than any of the girls that were Called, stronger, with better reflexes. Older too. They’ve stopped training with the minis around five years ago, after the Sunnydale girls, led by Caridad, Rona and Vi had to sit them down and explain that it was discouraging the newer slayers to see something so unattainable. Inherently competitive, alpha females that could never measure up to their ideals- it was bad for their morale to see just how much more advanced Faith and Buffy were.

That was fine. Afterwards, they stuck to training with the Sunnydale girls- the ones Called at the Hellmouth directly, infused with more power than the ones called further away. Willow had explained it as them being directly in a portal of mystical energy, close to the original conduits of the slayers’ power- Faith, Buffy and the scythe.

“Faith, come on-“ Buffy huffs out in disbelief, “this is me you’re talking to.” She watches Faith’s jerky movements calmly, “you can’t lie to me. We’ve gone through everything together, we’re the original two.” She smiles, reaches over for one of the pillows that had fallen off the bed once Faith had started packing and throws it at her. “Just sit alright, talk to me.”

Faith eyes her warily, “is this going to be a chick flick moment? You know I’m not into any of that girly shit, Summers. That’s what you have Red and Andrew for.”

“Oh my god,” Buffy moans, “you won’t have to talk about the fact that you’re not all leather and brooding sass, just… at least tell me where you’re going to be staying. How I’m going to reach you. Tell me what the plan is. If,” a blonde eyebrow rises in challenge, “there is a plan.”

Her duffle is black, almost filled to the brim with her clothes, toiletries. The other bag, the one that she always keeps packed and in immaculate condition- is made of dragonhide, and is locked with a combination, a key and a blood activated spell of Willow’s. It says something about their lives that her weapons bag was ready to go before she even made the decision.

“There’s a bed and breakfast. It’s small, on the edge of town. I have a room there for at least a week, I’m going to see what the sitch is about staying longer. I’m taking both my cellphones with me and the amulet…” Faith trails off, picking at a loose thread on her coverlet.

This is the same room that she’s had for four years, the same one that she always stays in when she’s in Cleveland. It doesn’t make sense that her coverlet would become so threadbare, look so old when she’s not even in town that much.

“What about,” Buffy inhales and Faith isn’t surprised to feel her closer than before, “what about your family?” The small hand on Faith’s shoulder should be a shock she knows, but it’s more like a relief, a comfort and she’s leaning back into the touch before she can stop herself.

“I uh,” Faith clears her throat with a laugh, “family’s probably exaggerating it a bit.” The lump of gravel in her throat is so stubborn that she swallows three times before it starts to disintegrate. “There’s only three of them there. Only three alive.”

Buffy’s hand is a vice, she’s holding on that tightly and the pain is somehow enough to ground Faith. It’s stupid, really. She’s never known these people, the ones that the Council had taken her from and dumped her in the middle of Boston- with a nurse of a mother who was rapidly spiralling into addiction. Her hands are white knuckled as she blinks furiously, treacherous prickling in her eyes giving away just how stupid this is. She’s never even known them. Why is she this upset about what she read? What kind of family were they that they never even looked for her? And yet, the papers that Willow had handed her, white faced and stricken, hands shaking as she bit her lip- maybe this isn’t a good idea, you know? Maybe we shouldn’t go digging around in the past- and the words, stark black on white- ‘eight people dead in an arson case’ are still enough to make her want to howl.

Somewhere out there, eight of her family members died, locked in their house and Faith hadn’t even known.

“What are their names?” Buffy asks gently.

“Peter, Laura and Derek,” Faith says and their names are somehow soft on her tongue. Filled with hope, goddamn it. She’s thirty two years old and she’s been alone for most of her life. The idea of having at least three family members should be too much, too big and yet- Faith feels young and stupid again. Like she’s back in Sunnydale, watching Joyce, Buffy and Dawn hungrily, a yearning pit of loneliness in her, so wide and so dark that she used to feel like it would swallow her whole.

“What was your name?”

And that’s the crux of the matter isn’t it? Her name. Her identity. Who she was and who she’ll be. Who she’s been all of her life. Faith the slayer, the killer, the thief. Faith the intruder, the interloper. So hungry for any sign of approval that she would have gladly done anything and had done anything. For affection. For love. For a stupid sense of belonging that she’s never really felt.

“Faith,” she says with a burst of choked off laughter, because even though the bastards that kidnapped a toddler were evil, thoughtless fucks- they’d at least left her with the name that her parents had given her. “Faith Hale.”

 

+

 

Beacon Hills is not that far from the sinkhole where Sunnydale used to be. Faith makes the two hour detour gratefully, happy for a reprieve, desperate for some time alone with her memories.

The government had walled off the giant hole in the ground, eager to forget about the strange disaster that was Sunnyhell. People from all over used to drive up to the place, some tourists eager for a possible site of something unknown. Xander had once told them about overhearing a couple of freaking UFO hunters talk conspiracy theory and Faith had laughed and Dawn had laughed but they had all stopped when Andrew had said, in a strangely serious tone that he rarely used, that what made them think UFOs weren’t real. Monsters were real. What if the other things out there were real as well?

It’s still early, five in the morning and Faith hasn’t been to bed, too restless to fall asleep on the Council funded hotel mattress. The oldest slayers had a good sized travel allowance, one that Giles had looked primly gleeful about when he had discovered the hidden Council bank accounts all over the world. Maybe it was terrible of her to think so, people had died and all but there were days when Faith felt a bone-deep kind of gratefulness that people like Giles were running the whole structure now. The money was going back into operations, into slayer and wiccan support, into going out and finding the newly called girls, talking to the families and recruiting potential magic users. Instead of fortunes being amassed for the upper elite, the families with hundreds of years of history in Council politics- it was now being used for the good of them all.

She gets out of the car easy, slipping on her aviators without a second thought. It’s still early but it is California and her eyes feel like they’re covered in sand, light is definitely not her friend right now.

There are a couple of stragglers here and there, mostly bums that hang around for the chance to pickpocket tourists or to steal from some of the more enterprising small businesses that had popped up post-sinkhole. Stands that sell t-shirts, ‘I survived Sunnydale, ask me how!’ and mugs. Broken shards from the rubble. Things that Faith had never wanted to think about people coveting.

Things taken off the gravesites.

She walks right to the edge, where the fence is lowest and hops over easy.

“Pretty girl!” a drunken, slurring voice calls her and Faith keeps walking. “Hey pretty girl!” she stops and looks over her shoulder, just in case. Once or twice she had run into one of Riley’s Commando boys out here, undercover, pretending to be sight-seeing and doing a piss poor job at it.

It’s just a drunk this time, an old man with a stubbled face and more missing teeth than present ones. He’s holding onto a bottle of Jack and swigging merrily from it.

“Be careful out there, ya hear?” the old man squints at her, pointing at the sinkhole with an unsteady hand. “Them are bad things down there, dark things. Stay in the light.”

Faith watches him steadily for a moment. There’s a chance that he was one of the evacuees from town, Willow had once mentioned it that the Hellmouth had a strange influence even on the mundanes in Sunnydale. All too clearly, Faith remembers the Mayor and how the town’s administration seemed to quiver under his rule. Worshipful and fearful, they knew exactly what to do to appease him.

“Don’t worry about me,” she says to the man and smiles, bares her teeth is more like it. “I’m one of the dark things from down there.”

There’s a bundle of sage in her left pocket and a lighter in her right. She sits on the edge of the hole in the earth, watching the darkness intently. There’s nothing moving. There wouldn’t be. Buffy and her had taken the minis once they had healed after the Hellmouth, some of Angel’s crew and whatever supernatural beings had turned up to help and had spent two months living near the sinkhole to make sure nothing would come up. Faith still hates camping and her and Buffy don’t talk about the time that they had wandered into Angel’s tent and had found Lorne cutting his hair, singing Mandy with Angel and sounding pretty damn good too.

Manilow man, who knew?

She takes out the sage and lights an end on fire, watches the smoke curling into the early morning air, thick and fragrant and cleansing. She then starts the usual chant, Sumerian and Latin, before switching onto the names of the dead that they had left behind. The list is long and each name is engraved into her memory. When the last of the sage floats away on the wind, Faith exhales and whispers- “meh guptareh.” Peace. A cleansing ritual for the dead that they had left behind. Each of them do it when they visit. None of them want to be the ones to turn around one day and see a beloved face in front of them. Not again. Not after the First.

Willow’s ritual will ensure that the dead will stay at peace.

It’s the least they can do for leaving them behind.


	2. Chapter 2

Beacon Hills looks ridiculously like Sunnydale once she passes the city border. Zeppelin is playing in her car, a restored Chevy Mustang that Andrew had insisted on repainting a cherry red. It suits her, she likes it and more importantly- she can rely on it.

The diner catches her attention almost right away and she peels into the parking lot with the music still booming. She flicks the engine off and gets a couple of twenties from her bag before walking inside. Her head feels like it’s throbbing, brain painfully beating against her skull and her skin stretched too tight over her bones. She needs coffee before she can go any further.

Faith catches the eye of one of the waitresses pretty quick, sliding into one of the corner booths with an easy movement.

“What’ll you have hon?” her name tag says Sheila and Faith is suddenly, viscerally reminded of the woman who had taken her. Or been saddled with her, which would probably explain the beatings a lot better, if she had never wanted a kid and had one thrust on her without a choice in the matter.

“Coffee, black. An order of pancakes, bacon, hashbrowns, two sausages and half an order of waffles,” Faith doesn’t even blink at the waitress’ impressed whistle. It’s been too long since she’s been ashamed of what her body needs to function.

“You’re an eater huh?” Sheila eyes her with approval. “Couldn’t tell from a skinny thing like you. You been dieting?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Faith bares her teeth again, “I’ll be back to my old ways in no time.” The last apocalypse had finished two weeks ago, no casualties, despite the daily injuries that the girls had suffered. All of them had lost weight, Buffy and her especially, they had patrolled non-stop, ran training groups, simulation scenarios and gone on more research trips than Faith ever cared to think about.

Now that the major threat is off the table, Faith knows that she’ll be back to her old body soon enough. She’s sleeping regularly again, her usual four to six hours a night, instead of the exhausted hour or so they had ran on for the last couple of weeks and now that she’s eating properly- she’ll be fine.

“That’s good to hear,” Sheila says with a soft smile that somehow still manages to look ladylike despite the cheap lipstick that’s become a little too faded, creased into the lines of her mouth. “You’re too pretty to look so stressed.”

And immediately, the comparison with Faith’s Sheila ends. Her mother would have been the first to encourage Faith to go on a diet. Heroin chic was her number one fashion choice and once Faith had started developing muscles and curves, Sheila Lehane had started getting even more vicious with her.

“Thanks,” Faith says and doesn’t smile, too afraid that it’ll look feral again, wrong. Nothing like she wants it to.

“You’re welcome,” the waitress says and pats Faith’s shoulder before leaving, a stranger really, one that’s probably not going to think twice about the strange woman she had shown some kindness too. She’s just going through her day, doing her job and maybe she has kids at home, a husband. She has a life where her job doesn’t mean the possibility of death every time she slips into her uniform. A life where the only knives she’ll ever see are the cheap ones they sell at the local Wal-Mart.

She and others like her are the reason why Faith fights. Why all of them do. Why they put on their weapons, lace up their boots and go out, night after night making sure that the monsters don’t hurt the waitresses, doctors, students.

Faith shakes her head, pulling the strange, thick thoughts away and starts checking out the rest of the diner’s inhabitants.

It’s just the usual mix of an early morning crowd, truckers and families, and a table full of teenagers in the corner. Faith’s eyes stop on them though. She’s never been one to discount teenagers, not after she had done herself as a teenager and this time, the voice in the back of her head whispers gleefully that Beacon Hills is a lot more like Sunnydale than she even thought.

There are seven teenagers all in all, five boys and two girls. All of them unfairly attractive. Five of them werewolves. Faith stares at them thoughtfully, before Sheila brings her coffee over. She thanks the woman before taking a sip. It’s perfect.

That’s the thing about diners, either their coffee’s going to be shit or it’s going to be amazing, there’s no middle ground.

Faith smiles, watching the werewolves shifting nervously. They can’t tell what she is, she thinks, gazing at them, they can smell the predator in her- but they don’t know that she’s a slayer. It’s weird, nothing in the research had shown that Beacon Hills has a pack. There were reports a while back about a fairly large one, a pack that had stayed off the official documents, off the Council’s radar, but nobody had documented a new one forming. By the looks of the teenagers, the nervous way they keep squeezing together, as if instinctively seeking the comfort of each other’s bodies- Faith can see that they’re pack.

She didn’t want to have to deal with figuring out werewolf politics on top of this, but it looks like the choice has been taken out of her hands. It’s common courtesy for Council representatives to introduce themselves to the leaders of whatever supernatural factions are in the area. In the past, Faith’s had to introduce herself to faerie royalty, voodoo High Priests, heads of covens- alphas of packs have almost become a routine by now.

Sheila brings by her food and the teenagers, still terrified but growing ever more incredulous as the plates stack up at her tables, watch her eat it all. By the time Faith is full and the caffeine is percolating in her blood, she feels much better. Much more like a real person, instead of a walking, talking zombie and she leaves a fifty percent tip without a second thought.

She heads over to the wolves’ table and by the time she’s standing in front of them, they’re all growling, amber eyes flashing at her.

Faith quirks an eyebrow at how new the pups seem to be, either they’re newly turned or just badly trained- or she’s just gotten much, much scarier than she realized but if they’re losing control this easily, she really wants to see who the alpha that turned them was.

“Calm down,” she drawls easy, tracing her fingers on the table as she watches the wolves’ hackles rise as she flips her hair back, “you’re beginning to draw attention to yourselves.” One by one the growling drops off, until the wolves are just staring at her, fear and rage in their still brightly colored eyes. What’s interesting though is the way the humans with them have reacted. Or haven’t reacted. While the wolves had been a small unfanging away from giving their secret, the boy with the buzzcut and the bright hazel eyes and the redhead have been watching her warily. Intensely. They seem more cautious with her, unaware of who she is but not liking their compatriots’ reactions to her at all.

It’s stupidly human, their inability to sense the slayer, and Faith feels suddenly and overwhelmingly protective of these kids running with the monsters.

“My name is Faith,” she says to the calmest of the werewolves, a bulky looking black kid that reminds her painfully of Oz.  
Maybe it’s the serene air around him, or the way that he seems to be anchoring everyone else in the pack- but he seems to be a good choice to pass on the message. “I’m with the Council,” none of them react to that and Faith sighs inwardly.

They’ve known about the smaller towns controlled by the human hunters, towns where the threats haven’t gotten big  
enough to call down the attention of the slayer army- they’re mostly unaware about the bigger threats around them, the monsters that get so huge they can black out the sky. The threats that rip open the dimensions, raining down hell on earth on anyone stupid enough to get in their way.

“Oh man, you guys are really new to this, aren’t you?” she exhales, wincing a bit as the kids draw up in righteous indignation. It’s almost adorable how they think that flashing a bit of fang is going to set her off.

“Not that I’m not digging the whole John Hughes meets Terminator vibe you’ve got going there,” she nods over at where a blonde, red lipped girl wearing an honest to god leather corset is sitting next to a typically douche looking jock-type that’s still wearing the jersey of whatever high school is unfortunate enough to be housing these miscreants, “but you should really, really know what the Council means.”

It’s the buzzcut kid that surprises her, snapping out a defense of his more ill-informed brethren- “maybe you should stop mocking us and just get on with whatever it is that you were going to say. Because we’ve still got breakfast to get through and if you’re going to promise death and destruction, I’d rather think about it on a full stomach- if you don’t mind.”

Faith stares at him before breaking out into a smile, “you’re a mouthy one, aren’t you? But alright,” she straightens up, “tell your alpha that a Council member is in town. I’m not here as a threat to the pack and I’m not here on work business. If he decides he wants to meet me, he can send one of you puppies over to find me.” She looks at them, “I assume you’ve got my scent?”

The calm kid nods once.

“Excellent,” Faith smiles at them again, “have a fantastic breakfast.” She starts walking away before the buzzcut kid leans and yells, “hey!”

Faith quirks an eyebrow, staring at him over her shoulder inquisitively. The kid’s eyes widen in shock before he visibly recovers. “Those are some nice leather pants you’ve got going on there Sarah,” he nods at her favourite pair of red leather, moulded perfectly to her ass.

Faith starts laughing, shooting the kid a quick thumbs up- “touché.”

She’s still in a good mood as she checks into the bed and breakfast, using one of her fake IDs, doctored by Willow not to check any of the flags in the system that might still be attached to her old last name. The room that they give her looks like every stereotypical bed and breakfast that she might have been in if she was so inclined to spend her time in them. Plaid, ducks and frills. So much plaid, it’s like the room where plaid went to die.

Faith jumps into a quick shower before getting out her cellphone and shooting off a quick message to Buffy.

Arrived alive. Found a pack of werewolves. Have someone do some research into why Beacon Hills doesn’t show up in our system as wolfy. I liked one of them, he reminded me of Xander- mouthy and stupidly brave. Don’t worry.

She falls asleep.

She dreams of a mansion in the woods at night time, flames flickering higher and higher as they lick up into the sky.  
There’s so much screaming coming from inside and Faith’s breath catches as she realizes what the silver ring around the house is- mountain ash.

When she wakes up, she doesn’t remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm on Tumblr- shulik1. I welcome all who aren't easily startled, that like writing, art, fanfic, gay wolves, gay angels, hip hop. Everything and anything. 
> 
> Also, I post snippets of upcoming chapters, talk about writing difficulties and talk about my original work. 
> 
> I love people and I talk too much in any medium.


	3. Chapter 3

She’s in the local grocery store, in the dairy aisle when she feels somebody staring at her. She looks back to see a tall man wearing a canvas jacket and a pair of cargo pants that she can see weighted with weapons- a double gun holster in his jacket, a knife strapped to his thigh and a smaller gun on his ankle. He’s staring at her with a pair of the prettiest blue eyes that she’s seen in a good long while, not even bothering to hide the fact that he looks like the biggest creeper ever.

Faith sighs. She had really not wanted to run into anything like this, the last time they had to work with hunters- Lucifer was rising and beside all the mind numbing horror, it was one of the most singularly unpleasant experiences of Faith’s life.

Hunters are inherently distrustful of anything supernatural, even if it’s on their side. The hunters they’d worked with had been some pretty huge dicks, angry, paranoid and she knew that the Council would never have gotten wind of the Lucifer situation if one of the angels hadn’t decided to go against his orders and alerted the Council to the shenanigans happening in the Midwest. Hunters aren’t likely to ask the monsters for help and to them, the slayers, sure as shit are a part of the monsters.

The hunter and Faith is more sure of the guy being a hunter than she’s sure of the yoghurt she’s holding in her hands, keeps right on staring at her. There are two choices here, she can go on with her shopping, get her groceries and go back to her room. Willow had texted earlier saying that she had news and Faith really doesn’t feel like wandering around town with a pack of werewolves aware of her every move while discussing Council business with the strongest witch in the hemisphere.

They’d heard of a bruja down in Peru who was rumoured to be stronger but so far, nobody had the time or the inclination to go travelling for somebody that could potentially wipe even Willow out.

The other choice is to confront the situation head on. Faith looks at the yoghurt with poorly hidden disappointment. She really likes strawberries, but oh well, not right now. She’s always been the type to confront a situation head-on.

She dumps her grocery basket where she was standing and stalks towards the hunter. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch as she approaches him and the closer Faith gets, the better she can see that the hunter is sort of unfairly good looking. The ones back in Kansas had been stupidly pretty, like they’d just stepped out of some teenybopper show but Faith has always been drawn to the more interesting types. It sucks that the interesting type is much more likely to put a bullet through her head than he is to agree to some under the sheets ‘information exchange’.

“Hey gorgeous,” she purrs, sidling up to him in a loose movement. It never hurts to keep them off their toes. It’s always better to be underestimated and if Faith has to use the way she looks for that, then that’s what she’ll do.

The hunter blinks at her before stepping away with a scowl. He crosses his arms, looking thunderous- a move that somehow manages to make him look even more attractive.

“We haven’t received word of a slayer coming to visit Beacon Hills,” he says angrily.

Faith drops the act and cocks her head, watching the hunter curiously. “That’s interesting,” she says politely, “I’ve never been under the impression that the Council owed anything to a bunch of redneck vigilantes.”

She cringes silently as soon as the words leave her mouth. It’s stupid, being this affected by a goddamn hunter and within three minutes of meeting him, but Faith’s always been one to react with anger whenever she’s feeling provoked and being alive to see past thirty hasn’t been enough to change her.

The hunter looks thunderous, taking a step closer to her and looming pretty successfully. Instead of it being intimidating, Faith feels a treacherous tendril of heat working its way up her spine. She’s always had a weakness for the angry, tall ones- witness her brief and humiliating infatuation with Angel.

“I apologize. Let’s start over,” Faith smiles her professional smile, the one that Giles made her take lessons on to keep from any further ‘diplomatic’ incidents. “I’m Caridad Ramirez,” she says smoothly and stretches out her hand, “I’m from the New Council of England.”

Buffy and her rarely use their own names when traveling, it can cause an incident knowing that a Chosen slayer has come to town and Faith had once seen a village get evacuated because they’d heard that she and Buffy were about to come. Granted, the village was Githral, but Githral demons had never been threatening, not even dangerous enough to make it onto the Council’s Shit List or what was officially known as The Demon’s Compendium.

Faith used Cari’s name when traveling and Buffy used Vi’s. Being one of the Sunnydale Called would be a brief explanation of why their powers differed from the other Called girls, without evoking the whole ‘Oh shit, the original slayers are coming to town’ vibe that using their own names did.

Grumpy Gus eyes her distrustfully and Faith ratchets up her smile, mentally cursing the inherent paranoia of the whole hunter nation. “Come on,” she cajoles, “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

Finally the hunter shakes her hand. His fingers are long and his palm is calloused. The tendril from before is back and before Faith knows what to do, the hunter’s dropping her hand with a narrowed gaze.

They stare at each other again before Faith breaks the détente. “This is the part where you tell me your name,” she tells him helpfully.

“Chris Argent,” he says and then rapidly switches tactics, “are you here on official business?”

“Argent,” Faith muses, ignoring his question- “isn’t that silver in French?” She snorts, eyeing him gleefully- “are you bullshitting me now? A hunter with the last name of ‘silver’? Real clever bud, but the only other way you’d be even more conspicuous is if you were a werewolf named Remus Lupin.”

“That’s my real name,” Chris Argent stares at her like she’s lost her marbles.

“Are you sure?” Faith steps closer. “Because you don’t have to lie to impress me,” she leers at him, “I’m already plenty impressed.” She makes sure to add a little eyebrow wiggle despite how ridiculous it makes her feel.

Chris Argent is as human as it gets but with how fast he disappears, he gives some of the supernatural a run for their money.

Faith starts laughing before going back to pick up her basket. One of the werewolves from yesterday is there, lanky, with curly blonde hair and a face that would have made Buffy cream her pants in high school but is now making Faith vaguely feel like a giant pervert.

“That was good,” the werewolf tells her with a shy smile, “funny.”

“Thanks,” Faith smiles at him before picking up her groceries, “I’m guessing you’re here to take me to your alpha?”

“Yeah,” the wolf scratches the back of his neck adorably and Faith immediately wants to coo over him. It’s one of the strangest and strongest impulses she’s had in a while. She settles for bumping his hip companiably, “you mind if I pay for my crap first?” She gives him a conspiratorial wink, “I really want some yoghurt.”

The kid returns her smile and god, every female around him must just want to adopt him on sight. “Sure,” he nods.

“Great,” Faith leads the way to the registers and gets in line. She’s amused to note that there are wolves stashed out at every exit, all of them eyeing them incredulously like they can’t believe that they’re just waiting to pay instead of what?  
Fighting to the death? She snorts.

The kid turns to her in question.

“Sorry,” Faith smiles, “what’s your name? I can’t just keep calling you ‘kid’ in my head.”

His eyes flicker to where the leather clad girl from yesterday is watching them with angrily narrowed eyes.

“Hey,” Faith frowns, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s okay, I don’t want to create any problems for you.”

The kid shakes his head at that, “no, that’s alright.” He smiles at Faith but she knows that his words are addressed to the rest of the wolves around them. “I’m Isaac.”

“Great,” Faith beams back at him, “I’m Faith.” Later, she’ll be unsettled by how fast she’s become attached to this kid, fond of him. Not now. Now she’s busy trying to fight against being pulled into his general air of adorableness.

“Not Caridad?” Isaac ducks his head, smiling at her slyly.

“I’m not a big fan of hunters,” Faith makes a face, “they don’t need to know everything about me.”

Isaac looks deeply and gleefully approving of this.

The line moves ahead and Faith notices the chocolate bars around them. “Isaac,” she starts, “I hope you don’t think I’m being creepy, but you want some candy?” She raises a hand before he can answer, “and yes, I do realise that I sound like every PSA for predator alerts imaginable, but you’re a werewolf and you’ve got your pack around you. What’s going to happen?”

Isaac stares at her for a long moment, much like Chris Argent did not a couple of minutes back, before slowly answering- “I like Snickers.” There’s a soft, wondering look in his eyes, mixed with distrust and a healthy dose of fear and Faith is deeply reminded of being seventeen and running on fumes in Sunnydale, alone and with a history of an abusive mother.

Something inside her sharpens at that, at the thought that this kid might have gone through what she’s faced.

“Great,” Faith pulls one of the king size Snickers bars out of the box before getting a truly terrible idea and grinning, “hey Isaac?”

 

+

 

The wolves herd her out to the parking lot, where Isaac opens the back door to an impressive Camaro.

“Nice,” Faith whistles before turning to the kids behind her. “Now children, before you drive me over to be intimidated by your leader- I’ve got treats.” They tense as she reaches into her bag, not moving only when Isaac steps in front of her, hands raised in a ‘It’s okay’ gesture. Faith smiles before handing the calm kid whose name is actually Boyd a bag of Gummies, Erica the blonde- an Aero bar, the dumb looking kid whose name Isaac had said and then blushed violently- Skittles and Abercrombie Jackson some Swedish Berries.

Isaac had whispered their preferences into her ear, along with their names, grinning giddily as they stood in line at the store.

They clearly don’t know what to do with her now that she’s started giving out candy like Santa Claus so Faith gets into the back of the car on her own, sticking her head out after a moment- “well? Are we going to get moving or what?”

They have to break up into groups of two because all of them won’t fit in the car but Faith’s hearing makes out the rustling of several bags in the car behind them and she sees Scott’s eyes glancing down at his Skittles periodically.


	4. Chapter 4

They drive up to a dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of town, parking in beside a blue Jeep. The other car disbands before them and Faith has to stop herself from laughing as the werewolves hurriedly finish their candy before getting out, attempting to look particularly intimidating.

“Come on,” Boyd says before getting out.

Faith follows them out sedately. Despite her initial reaction of reluctant amusement, she can sense the loyalty between the new pack, their courage. She doesn’t think that their alpha had told them about slayers, otherwise they wouldn’t have taken the candy from her quite so readily- but from what she can see, they’re not stupid. Just young and inexperienced.

And Faith knows better than to discount them because they’re teenagers. Hell, she’d almost ended the world when she was not much older than them.

She senses two more wolves, stronger, older- two alphas, huh, before she sees them. One is younger, in his early twenties from the looks of it, tall, built like a brick shithouse and with the kind of face that should be raking in millions in Hollywood than playing house with a bunch of teenage werewolves in the backwoods of California. The other alpha stands a ways behind him, with the same kind of coloring- dark hair and pale eyes. Two related alphas in the same pack? Very, very interesting. Almost never seen.

Both of them are staring at her with much more wariness than she usually commands and Faith takes the initiative, used to over a decade of negotiating with nervous werewolves. She steps forward, keeping her neck nice and long but not bowed before them. “Hey,” she nods over at the both of them, “nice digs you’ve got here.”

The younger one with the truly impressive eyebrows and serial killer stare starts looking like he’s about to have a stroke at her words and Faith raises her eyebrows in surprise.

For someone so young, he’s certainly a broody and twitchy one.

“I guess your guys told you I was in town?” Faith decides to barrel ahead through the awkwardness. She’s never been one to mind people’s special brand of crazy and she’s not about to start now. “I’m Faith,” she steps forward and holds out her hand, wrist first as a sign of respect.

The older alpha huffs, shooting a dirty but kind of hilariously pissy look at his younger counterpart before stepping around him to shake her hand. “Peter Hale,” he smiles genially and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “and the silent, brooding one beside me is my nephew- Derek.”

The bottom of her stomach falls out and Faith feels like she’s about to start falling and never stand on her own feet again. Years of training keep her steady while her heart skips a beat at Peter’s words. He cocks his head curiously, obviously having heard the irregularity before frowning thoughtfully at her.

Which is when Derek snaps into action, growling low in his throat, fangs sliding out and eyes flashing a bright red. Peter drops his head ever so minutely, a gesture that a normal human wouldn’t have noticed but all the wolves look intensely relieved at it.

Distantly, the part that’s not standing stupidly still and freaking out, registers that there has to be some kind of history here and Faith is suddenly torn. “I didn’t know that the Hales were wolves,” she blurts out and then immediately regrets it. What is it with this town and screwing with all of her normal reactions?

“We kept off the books,” Derek says with distrust, eyeing her with an ill-disguised sneer.

Great. Not two days in town and she’s already met the last members of her family and one of them is looking pretty certain on his road to hating her. Just her luck.

“Is that the reason for the Council’s visit?” Peter inquires politely, smiling genially.

“No,” Faith shakes her head automatically before stopping, “well- it’s a part of it. None of our registers listed Beacon Hills as being werewolf friendly.”

“And?” Derek growls and wow, rude much? Faith has to fight the urge to step forward and smack him in the forehead. This must be what family is, wanting to smack your nearest and dearest until they get less stupid but still wanting desperately to know them.

“And,” Faith steps forward, lip curled back, “if you were on the registers you’d know about the Council’s programs for were unity. We do retreats and conferences and the bigger packs know to come.” At this point, she’s not even sure about what she’s saying. Retreats? What? This isn’t her job, this is why Oz heads the were division and deals with the hot-headed alphas all on his calm wolfy own self.

“Yeah? So you can control them?” Derek scoffs easily. “Everyone knows exactly what your Council stands for and pardon me if I don’t want to be kowtowing to a bunch of killer assholes.”

“Hey!” Faith warns him. “Watch who you’re calling names.”

“Oh yeah? Or what are you going to do about it?” Derek sneers and rolls his shoulders back.

Somewhere out there, Buffy is grinning widely. Stubborn idiocy must really be a family trait of hers, Faith wonders despairingly right as Derek begins to growl.

“Derek, come on-“ Peter tries to stop him reasonably, shooting strange looks at her that Faith can’t decipher.

The pack around them are looking nervously between them, like they can’t decide whether they want to get involved between their alpha and a stranger.

Faith sighs before beginning to take her leather jacket off. She folds it in half before dropping it on the ground. The ground rumbles for a second and Faith is already side stepping in a burst of movement and jumping upwards to land on Derek’s back, thighs tightly clamped around his shoulders as she uses his forward momentum to bring him down. He lands a couple good punches before Faith takes the advantage and uses her knee to pin his clawed hands behind his back. Both of them are breathing heavily and she can feel the blood dripping out of her most likely broken nose as she stares at the other wolves.

“I’m not here for trouble,” she says, stupidly aware that she’s probably just brought down their alpha in less than a minute. He’s young though and she can feel the potential beneath his skin, the untapped power rolling below his skin and Faith knows that he’s somehow weaker than he should be.

“I’m sorry,” she leans forward, whispering into Derek’s ear, “this wasn’t what I came here for. You just pissed me off so freaking much,” Faith snorts, “and I’ve never been good at controlling my temper.”

“It’s fine,” Derek grunts out beneath her and Faith rolls off him with the icky, icky knowledge that she’s just had her thighs around a family member’s neck. She extends a hand to him, biting a lip as they both watch each other. Then, Derek shakes his head and his features shift back into a human’s and he grasps her hand, allowing her to pull him to his feet.

The pack rush toward them, all exclaiming widely about what they just saw and what happened and they couldn’t move.

Faith stands behind Derek and watches as the young wolves all rush to touch him, make sure that their alpha is alright. God, she’d forgotten just how tactile all weres are, touchy feely without any weirdness.

“What was that?” the blonde- Erica after having ascertained Derek’s well being, stalks towards her. “What the hell was that?”

It’s Peter that answers them, watching Faith and not Erica as he says- “that, our dear little beta, was a slayer. And you couldn’t move because I’m guessing that our guest here, never meant Derek serious harm. Your wolves didn’t have enough incentive to break out of the instinctual hold of slayer power.”

There’s a silence before-

“Not just a slayer. That was Faith Lehane, President of NCI’s North American Operations and who I’m guessing is the oldest living slayer in the whole organization,” buzzcut kid is emerging out of the house, holding Faith’s ID pictures and old mugshot in his hand. He feels like jittery energy and too much adrenaline, like he’s about to start vibrating and Faith blinks, watching Derek instinctively take a step towards him before stopping, hovering in mid-step like he’s pained just watching the kid move.

“Am I right?” the kid grins widely, a huge, beaming smile of utter pride and happiness and unwillingly, Faith smiles right back at him. Jesus, what is it with the kids in this place if they’ve got even her wanting to coo at them?

“You’re right,” Faith smiles back at him, “I knew that I liked you for a reason, kid.”

“Stiles,” he says to her, with an awe-struck grin, “my name is Stiles.” He steps forward, hands trembling around the papers in his fingers as he goes- “and wow, can I just say, I think what your organization does is just so cool?”

“Stiles get away from her!” Derek barks out, dragging Stiles back by the scruff of his shirt.

“Oh my god,” Stiles bats his hands away, righting himself with a hilariously awkward little jumping shuffle, “what the hell is your damage?”

“She’s a slayer,” Derek says tersely, not looking in Faith’s direction at all, like she’s about to suddenly and hilariously get offended about the fact that he just called her exactly what she is. “They kill things like me, Stiles…And,” he swallows painfully, “she’s stronger than a wolf. Just, just keep where I have a chance of saving you.”

The silence in the air grows ever more awkward, Stiles and Derek staring at each other painfully and the wolves all doing their best to act like they’re not all watching what is essentially a mating dance happen.

“Um,” Faith raises a hand, “’scuse me?”

Both Stiles and Derek turn to look at her, whatever weird thing it was between them breaking.

Derek looks like he’s about to start committing acts of terrible violence at her, or at least try and Stiles, the poor kid, just looks concussed and confused- like he’s not exactly sure of what just happened but he knows that he didn’t like it.

“We don’t actually make it a point of killing werewolves,” Faith clears her throat, “we just usually run nature retreats with them, which, you know- if you’re a fan of eating really rare steak over a campfire can be a hoot and a half. And we don’t control them either,” she turns to eye Derek nastily before he can bring it up again, “we prefer to work in cooperation. Even with the Called girls, the world can get really tricky and when I say really tricky, I mean that we don’t exactly have the resources to be dealing with every little thing that goes to shit in the supernatural world. That’s why we prefer cooperating with the peaceful supernatural beings, it’s just easier. We run a couple of wolfy camps and retreats and the packs in return keep an eye on any shenanigans that might be going on their territory. It’s actually a pretty good system,” Faith shrugs.

“See Derek!” Stiles twists out of his reach before bounding over to stop near the vaguely Mexican looking one that Isaac has a crush on. “She’s not a killer, she’s a slayer. There’s a difference.”

“Oh yeah?” Erica huffs and crosses her arms in front of her truly impressive rack. Vaguely, Faith wonders whether that’s a good push up bra working or whether she’s just truly that gifted. “We’re not talking about linguistic differences Stiles here. She’s still something called a slayer, which, after seeing her take down Derek, does not fill me with confidence!”

“You know the word ‘linguistic’?” Stiles stares at her.

Faith snorts out loud, liking the kid more and more, the more she hears from him. Erica gives her a dirty look but Faith’s already realized that her and blondie aren’t going to get along. It’s probably easier to ignore her since she’s twice their age and remembers being sixteen and hiding her fear behind anger and red lipstick.

“You’re Natalie’s kid, aren’t you? The one they took? You’re her… you came back.” Peter interrupts them and Derek freezes, an awful look stealing across his features, pain and loneliness and so much guilt that it’s almost like looking at Angel again.

Peter steps forward, bright blue eyes boring into her with an intensity that should be terrifying but instead looks almost nostalgically homey. This doesn’t bode well for the people that Faith chooses to spend her time with.

“Your smell, that’s why you smelled so familiar-“ Peter says creepily before inhaling deeply, “that’s why I couldn’t figure out why my wolf doesn’t treat you as a threat despite the fact that you’re a slayer. You’re Natalie’s daughter. That’s why.”

Faith stands there, in a town filled with people she doesn’t know. The town where she was apparently born, the town she was taken from- in front of the people that share her blood and the people that share theirs and she stares. Lets herself drink in the moment because the possibility of something good happening after this, let’s face it, with her luck, is slim to nil.

“Faith?” Peter steps forward and this time, there’s no more coldness in his eyes only a burning wonder.

“I…” her voice cracks and she’s thirty two years old, a slayer that’s almost died countless times, a murderer, a godmother to one perfect little girl back in Cleveland and she wants to belong. Desperately, with all of her being and her flaws and her shitty, shitty mistakes- Faith wants to belong.

“I might be,” she says.


	5. Chapter 5

The puppies’ eyes are huge as they stare at Peter shaking in front of her. Faith can feel their surprise and shock, but right now it’s all she can do to concentrate on Peter in front of her, with his terrible hope and cold that seems like it’s trying to catch back on fire. She can’t even look at Derek, it’s too much. 

“How-…?” Peter’s eyebrows are so tightly drawn together that the resemblance between him and Derek becomes even more absolute. 

Faith clears her throat, blinks away some of the wetness and crosses her arms across her chest. It’s a measure of comfort, a way to keep herself somewhat together, steady. 

“I uh,” she laughs suddenly, a strange sound that tears its way out of her throat surprising her, “I don’t know. Last year, we uh, we found an archive room in Lancashire, one that we hadn’t seen before. There were diaries from watchers in training, diaries talking about the girls they’d take from their families. If they thought that their family environments were inappropriate-“ she laughs again, because what can be more inappropriate than a potential being born into a family of werewolves. It’s the cynical part of her, the one that’s lived through more disasters, end of the world level catastrophes, that part of her understands what the bastards did. Hell, she remembers running from Wes and the goon squad back in Sunnydale. She remembers the helicopter they actually brought to take her down. 

There’s nothing they wouldn’t have done to take a potential out of an environment where she might not have turned out the way they wanted her to. 

“We’ve been talking to the girls, asking them if they wanted to check their family histories for diseases, curses, genealogically based hexes- all the bullshit that comes from being born like us,” Faith snorts, remembering the absolute relief on Rona’s face when she had found out that most of the women in her family were allergic to chocolate and she had skipped over it thanks to nifty slayer/ demon healing. “And I volunteered to go first, you know, just to show them that it was fine. If me and B were doing this, chances were everyone would do it too-“ and it’s true, the minis have always been disturbingly eager to follow her and Buffy’s examples, “and uh, I guess the test came back that I wasn’t actually a Lehane. So Willow, she’s one of our witches,” Faith carefully doesn’t mention that Willow can singlehandedly take on their whole witch division by now, “she started looking into the records.” 

It’s like the heaviness from before, Derek’s outburst, Peter’s wrongness, the wolves’ anger- all of it seems to have washed away at her words. Like rain cleansing away the dirt, her words have wiped them all a little cleaner. Made them shine a little brighter. 

“How did you know about us?” Derek finally speaks. His voice is hollow, his face pale and the guilt from before seems to have transformed into something more wistful, longing. 

“Magic,” Faith says and starts laughing, “magic.” 

 

+

 

“This is really,” Faith says looking at the warehouse where Derek’s led them into with her eyebrows raised, “really, creepy.” She stares at where there are a couple of randomly collected chairs stacked against one another, a small table with old books strewn across it and blinks. Even when she had been living in the hellhole motel back in Sunnydale, where the cockroaches were the size of her fist and hookers would bring their johns back to rooms across her hallway- it still didn’t look this insanely serial killer-esque. She’s seen Seven, she knows what places like this mean. 

“Why are you living here?” she asks Derek who switches from looking sad and generally depressed into blindingly homicidal within the blink of an eye. 

“Hunters,” he spits out, insane around the eyes and the general eyebrow area, “they tried to set fire to the old house again.” 

The old anger comes flaring right back, like a spark ignited, it flares and spreads out until she has to clench her fists together just to keep herself from striking out and doing something incredibly, incredibly stupid with a bunch of werewolves watching her. 

“You smell just like Derek when you get angry,” Isaac says wonderingly, watching her with his big puppydog eyes, “you really must be family.” 

Peter chuckles darkly behind them, “yes, because homicidal rage must be a family trait.” 

“That’s funny, my prison counsellor said the same thing too-“ Faith says unthinkingly and when both Derek and Peter turn to gape at her, she decides that in for a penny, in for a freaking pound apparently and decides to hurtle on- “Natalie, who was she?” 

‘My mom’, is too enormous to think yet, the words won’t even stay in her mind and saying them might be enough to bring her to her knees. 

Peter stares at her before blinking, shaking his head a little bit- ‘like a dog’ Faith’s mind supplies unhelpfully, before taking a deep breath. “Get the betas out,” he says to Derek. 

“No,” Derek shakes his head ruefully, somewhat shamefacedly Faith thinks, darting a glance at where Erica and Boyd are standing imperceptibly closer together than everyone else. “There shouldn’t be secrets between us. This was how all this crap started in the first place. The secrets.” 

And crap, trust her to make in between a whole new sort of drama- Faith sighs, looking at the shifting wolves and the guilty looks on the potato kid’s and the Leather Twins’ faces. The story keeps getting more and more complicated, from a kidnapping of her for chrissake, to finding out she’s related to a family of werewolves to the werewolves’ own little drama. Or big drama, Faith amends, if the nervous looks the kids keep shooting at Derek are anything to go by. 

“Faith?” Peter turns to her. “It’s your story here.” 

Faith turns around, looks at the kids, really looks at them- from Isaac who’s still as he watches the situation, shoulders slumping a little inwards as if to make himself seem smaller. Jesus, the kid, everything about him hurts. From his body language that screams of years of trying to make himself smaller, to take up less space and not register as a threat to his sweet, shy smile. She looks at Scott and the stubborn tilt to his jaw, the way he’s watching Derek with something like distrust, a little bit belligerence and teenage rebellion. Stiles next to him, big brown Bambi eyes and the sort of keen intelligence that Faith is used to seeing from the researchers, from Dawn and Willow when they start getting academic and stubborn. Erica and Boyd who seem to be inching ever closer to each other, like they’re trying to leech strength from the heat of each other’s skin and Jesus, there’s enough issues just looking at them that Faith is already beginning to feel exhausted. 

She’s spent too long living a relatively structured existence, she’s either alone on the road, finding and recruiting slayers or she’s stationed in one of the Council’s houses- helping with an apocalypse, or doing one of the few rare things that the organization truly needs her and Buffy for now. They’ve got so many fantastically competent people working for them that sometimes, alright, often- Faith feels like the two of them are becoming obsolete. Oldest slayers, the ones that changed the world, changed everything- which is great and all, but she’s still only thirty two and she already feels ancient. Stretched too tight, distant, like she needs to keep away from all the people around her, all of them waiting for her to do something amazing and she can’t. She can’t. 

“They’re yours?” she asks Derek, watching him carefully. 

He’s so young goddamnit, and she’s seen young alphas before but they’ve usually been surrounded by older family, advisors that could help them not screw up but not Derek. Not Derek. She’s read the file. Survivors of the fire were a L Hale- nineteen years old and a D Hale, sixteen. He’s only twenty three. 

She came out of prison when she was twenty three. 

“Yes,” Derek says. 

Faith glances back at the odd inhale coming from Stiles. Bambi, exactly like Bambi- she thinks looking at him. 

“All of them?” she asks. 

“Yes,” Derek exhales and Faith nods. Understands. She’s been there too, once upon a time. Where Derek is. Young and hot-headed, given too much power that should never have gone to her and she had made mistakes, so many of them. Stupid ones, ones that resulted in death, ones that had almost gotten her friends killed. 

“Alright,” Faith nods and gives him a smile, watching the wariness in his strange green blue eyes, the way he seems to be holding himself so carefully, like he still can’t process exactly what’s happening. 

“Alright,” Faith turns to Peter who’s been watching them both with a look that she’s just too suddenly exhausted to decipher, “tell me everything.” 

 

+

 

The sun is round and bright, setting carefully, slowly into the canopy of the woods behind her bed and breakfast. She stares at the cigarette in her hands, lit with a burning red cherry end, smoke curling upwards. 

The air in Beacon Hills is so different than anywhere she’s ever been, Faith thinks idly, it smells like grass and earth. It smells comforting and Faith would laugh, if she could, if the sound would be able to make it anywhere past her lungs, but the air smells like home. 

Her hands don’t shake. Her hair hangs loosely down her back, still wet from her shower and the werewolf at the edge of her vision is too young for this. All of this. 

“What’d you get out of this?” Faith asks him in a low, hollow voice still watching the cigarette burn itself out. 

“The bite?” he asks, closer to her in that jerking whoosh of movement that nobody can ever be truly used to, but she’s stopped being surprised by. 

“Yeah, Isaac- the bite, everything, what did you get out of it?” Faith looks at him, squints from the rays of the setting sun and how Isaac looks illuminated. His curly hair looks like a halo and his face is so still, sweet and innocent. 

“My dad,” Isaac starts slowly, haltingly- “he uh, he used to-“

“Stop,” Faith interrupts him, stopping him before he can go into detail. She’s only known the kid for a day, she has no right to be digging into his history. “Just,” she scoots over and makes space for him, “just sit. Please.” 

He sits down beside her and when Faith glances at him, the kid’s face is all grateful lines and uncomfortable silences. “Thanks,” he says. “For uh,” Isaac gives an awkward, broken laugh at her eyebrow raise- “the candy, I guess.” 

Faith smiles at him, “you’re welcome” before reaching out to wrap her hand around his wrist. Wolves are tactile and Isaac is sweet, still a child and Faith allows herself this moment of selfishness- of pure comfort. She keeps her grip slack and relaxed, letting the kid know he can pull away anytime he wants to- there needs to be gentleness with people like him. Like them, she thinks and almost snorts. It’s easy, this silence between them and something hollow and sharp, the shards crowding against each other in her chest- they ease their movement, still for a moment and let their edges smooth out a little bit. 

“For what’s it worth,” Faith holds on to Isaac’s wrist and stares into the woods taking comfort from the heat of his werewolf skin, “me too. My mom,” she pauses, deliberately aims her words ahead of her- “or, I guess, not my mom- she was like that too.” Faith doesn’t use the words, she doesn’t need to. From the sharp glance   
that Isaac throws at her, the catch in his breathing, she knows that the kid’s got exactly what she’s talking about. 

They sit for another beat of silence before Isaac volunteers, “it’s pretty shitty.” 

“What is?” Faith turns to him. 

Isaac shrugs picking at his jeans, “just, I always knew that Derek had a pretty screwed up life. From everything that happened with his family, to his sister and Peter- but now you’re in that too,” Isaac pauses, “and I guess I just don’t know what’s worse… He has the memories of his family and from what I know, they sounded like pretty awesome people to be related to. And I don’t know whether it’s worse that he remembers them and has to live with the fact that they’re gone, or the fact that they’re gone and you’ll never have a chance to know them.” 

Faith stares at him, this crazily insightful kid beside her, with his kind eyes and stupid, stupid taste in guys. “Scott has an uneven jaw,” she says just to break up the heavy silence between them and then watches gleefully as Isaac flushes a bright, splotchy red. 

“Just letting you know,” Faith says to Isaac, “that you’re probably way out of his league.” 

She’s not going to go into everyone’s stupid histories or how fucked up the Hale history is. How she had felt, like she was going to break apart in that goddamn warehouse, listening to Peter talk about their whole family- her family that she’ll never know because somebody set their house on fire and trapped them inside, about Laura who, from the brief description Derek gave of her, sounded like she would have been amazing to know and Peter. The most fucked up thing of all- Peter, who by all rights Faith should hate, but she can’t. She can’t, because she remembers being so angry at the world and wanting to take everything out- including the people that gave her something to fight for. How she had felt they were standing in her way, between her and that sharp moment of violence, that balancing on the edge of a knife, blood pooling beneath her feet. 

Isaac looks away from her, leans over and tears out a clump of grass from the ground beneath them. “He’s not,” Isaac clears his throat, still bright red but sure and determined, “he’s not like that. He likes girls, he’s been in love with this girl for the last year. Like, full on Romeo and Juliet love. He’s not into guys.” 

Faith stares at him, “kid,” she says patiently, “if he doesn’t get how amazing you are,” she smiles at Isaac’s shy ducking of his head, the pleased curl to his mouth, “and I can see that after a freaking day- then he’s not worth it.” 

“Are you sure you’re related to Derek?” Isaac asks her doubtfully, playfully and Faith laughs, shoves at his shoulder before getting up from her seat. 

“Seems like it,” she says before taking a deep breath and aiming her next words directly into the woods, where she’s sensed the werewolf- “and I’d really like to know you.” She bites her lip, grim and resolved but more sure of this than she’s been of the last three battle plans she’d put together and there’d been lives riding on it then “I’m Faith and I’m,” she can’t say it, can’t even wrap her mind around it- just how close her and this too young, stupidly hot-headed and sad boy are so she chooses to settle for another word and hopes that one day, she’ll be able to call him exactly what he is- “we’re family Derek, and I’d really like to know you.” 

There’s a shifty silence from the woods and Faith, if she were so inclined to, would bet that somewhere out there, Derek’s eyebrows have managed to merge with his hair. 

She huffs before reaching over to ruffle Isaac’s hair, and bups his chin gently with a loose fist- “tell Derek to be less of a creeper next time and not lurk in the trees. I’ve got Oreos. He should come up. We can bond, paint each other’s toenails and he can tell me all about his manpain,” she pauses before continuing, “also maybe about his hair. He’s a wolf so I know he’s running around the woods pretty much twenty four seven and his hair still manages to defy gravity. I have a friend who has a hair fetish as large as his forehead, he’d love some tips.” Faith stops, “or maybe not. I’m terrified at the thought of those two in the same room, trying to outbrood each other.” 

“You’re very, very strange” Isaac says, staring up at her with something uncomfortably close to awe in his face. 

“Aww,” Faith chucks his chin, “I bet you say that to all the girls.” 

Isaac’s quietly indignant spluttering follows her through the door and Faith allows herself at least one real smile before the emotions of the day overtake her again and she feels exhausted. Lost. 

 

+

 

Buffy’s wearing the third version of her old yummy sushi pajamas on Skype, a Christmas present from Dawn two years ago. She’s also wearing a pair of reading glasses, something that she’s started needing eight months ago and it had been a day of terrible, terrible revelations and also hilarity because she had come back seething from the doctor and Faith hadn’t been able to stop laughing until Buffy’d thrown caution to the wind and pounced. 

The ensuing fight had trampled the first version of Buffy’s reading glasses, two of the vases in the front hall and a chair. 

“So?” Buffy asks, cradling a large teacup between her hands. She blows on the hot liquid thoughtfully, staring at Faith through her laptop camera. 

“Where are you?” Faith frowns. 

“Dawn had to port me over to Scotland,” Buffy sighs, shrugging, “there was a territory dispute with that magic school and Shacklebolt and his cronies were making a big fuss about having to deal with Andrew.” 

That makes sense. Faith was beginning to get confused about who would buy tea in Cleveland, as far as she’s aware of, most of the house is addicted to coffee, so much so that they’ve worked out a constant system of fresh pots brewing. 

“Don’t avoid the question,” Buffy holds up a finger, “did you meet them?” Faith had texted her from the car about going to meet the local alpha. It was a common rule for them, even in the most mundane of their dealings- someone outside of their location always had to know where they were. Backup in case things started to go south. 

“I did,” Faith takes a deep breath.

“And?”

“Did you know that the Hales were hereditary weres?” Faith asks. 

It takes Buffy a beat to realize all of the implications of Faith’s question. “Shit…” it’s rare to hear her swear, there’s still so much of her old, prim California princess persona in her that sometimes, it can be downright shocking to hear Buffy acting like a real thirty year old adult. 

“Yeah,” Faith swallows, “shit.” 

“How were they? Did you tell them?” Buffy leans forward, staring intently. “Do you need any of us to come? I can get one of the witches to port us in within the hour.” 

Faith shakes her head, “no, that’s fine…I’m fine. But thanks,” she’s too tired to make herself smile, she settles for a small quirking of her lips, a gesture that only someone who had gone through everything with her would know. “They smelled it on me before I could tell them,” Faith says. 

“Huh,” Buffy leans back and stares thoughtfully, “from the smell thing, they’re wolves I’m guessing?” 

“Yup,” Faith makes her ‘p’ pop, “as wolfy as they come. Derek’s the alpha, he seems like he has a good heart from what little I saw. But you should see him, shoulders like a goddamn linebacker and a perpetual brood going on. You’d like him,” Faith adds thoughtfully and then starts laughing, “maybe it’s a good thing you’re not here.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Buffy huffs, quirking her eyebrow in question. 

“Oh come on,” Faith grins back at her, “we both know about your thing for hot, moody supernaturally inclined assholes.” 

“Hey!” Buffy snaps back, “from what I can remember, you had a thing for Angel, there was definite flirtage with Spike and you slept with Riley! If I have a thing for supernaturally inclined assholes, you have one just as big as me!” 

“B,” Faith interrupts her with bemused fondness, “that wasn’t about them- I just wanted your toys.” 

“Whatever,” Buffy rolls her eyes, well used to these little moments of weird awkwardness about their shared history and their shared men and everything else between them, “I still say that your thing for Angel was real.” 

“You’ve seen him in a wifebeater, right?” Faith leers and then both her and Buffy get the same, wistful look on their faces, remembering Angel and his fondness for working out shirtless. 

Buffy breaks the silence first, blushing like Faith knew she would. Maybe both of them had a thing for Angel, but Buffy was the only one that ever had it reciprocated- she actually has the full on naked memories of the guy.

“Just, never mind Angel- tell me about them. Your family,” Buffy says softly, switching tracks as easy as it comes to her. She’s always been better at juggling several different thoughts, lighter about spreading herself thin. Faith’s the one that gets obsessive about things, that holds on and keeps digging deeper, doesn’t want to let go. Has never learned how. There’s a reason why they call her the ‘dark slayer’, and it’s because she’s never been able to separate herself from the inherent darkness that follows them around. All of them. 

But maybe, knowing what she knows now, there’s a reason for that. Maybe she was never meant to. 

“They’re young,” Faith says after a pause, thinking about how stupidly afraid Derek’s wolves had looked as he had fallen, how Erica and Boyd had flinched- like violence was still something they were training themselves to get used to and how Isaac’s shoulders had hunched alarmingly. 

“Really young, but we were the same age as them when we started- so maybe it’s just us getting old.” 

“Speak for yourself there,” Buffy says vaguely before continuing, “who’s the alpha?” 

“Derek… but Peter’s still an alpha too. It’s complicated,” is the easiest way of describing the whole situation. If she starts going into the whole story, about vendettas and revenge and Peter’s eyes when he had talked about listening to his family scream for ten years in his own mind- Faith knows that it’ll be a maximum of ten minutes before she’ll have most of the Scoobs gathered in her hotel room. Buffy’s in Scotland, Willow’s in charge of Cleveland right now and Xander’s been doing a retreat with the hyena clans for at least a week now. He’s likely to bring the feelings stick with him if he comes. 

Nothing good ever comes from Xander and the feelings stick. 

This is just something she has to do one her own, she knows. It’s private. 

‘It’s family’, a voice whispers in her ear and Faith jerks in her seat. 

“You alright?” Buffy’s worried voice brings her back and Faith nods distractedly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Buffy nods, “alright. You going to sleep?” 

“Nah,” Faith shakes her head before letting a feral grin slip through, “I’m going to wait for darkness and patrol a little bit. See what’s what.”

Buffy looks interested, “yeah? You’re feeling something oogie there?” 

“I don’t know,” Faith frowns, rolling her shoulders back- “but it’s definitely not just wolves in the area. I’m going to try and figure it out, burn off some energy.”

“Alright,” Buffy grins back at her, “have fun with that.” 

“You too,” Faith tells her and then winks lewdly, “make sure to tell Kingsley that Faith says hi.” Last time the situation in Scotland required one of them to be present, it had fallen to Faith to drag her sorry ass up there and she had spent the week of negotiations being increasingly inappropriate with the magic dudes until they’d agreed, somewhat desperately, that they’d make sure to enforce the wards on the edge of their school’s forest. 

The minis had found a couple of the students straggling around the castle grounds in the last couple of years. Apparently the slayer school up in Scotland was unfortunately located nearby a magic school and when Faith said ‘unfortunately’, what she meant was that Andrew had drawn up a map with the strongest ley lines and then Willow had gotten everyone drunk enough to agree that sharing a forest with the wizards wouldn’t be such a bad idea and why was everyone getting so worked up anyway. 

“Stay safe,” Buffy says before logging off. 

Faith watches the darkness descend with something almost like anticipation. It’s been too long since she’s felt this way, too long since she’s allowed herself to become complacent and now- in a small town overrun with wolves, hunters and god knows what else- the only slayer in the area, she feels useful again. Hungry. 

Excited about the hunt. 

 

+

 

That is, of course, until she runs into Stiles skulking around the edge of the woods behind her. Literally runs into. 

She’s sure that he’s trying to be stealthy and from the ridiculous way he keeps stepping onto the balls of his shoes, he might even be qualifying in some alternate universe where she hasn’t been doing this for as long as she has and where her survival doesn’t depend on her being able to stay silent and alert at all times. 

She watches him from behind the trees, staying silent as Stiles creeps closer to the periphery of the clearing- where the lights from the back windows of the B & B don’t quite reach and where she knows her own window is. 

How exactly he’s still managed not to become werewolf food, Faith has no idea, but with his pale, innocent good looks and the way he keeps licking his lips as he scans the area- there’s a dark part of her, the demon that whispers about violence and blood, that understands exactly why Derek had looked at him the way he had. 

For Christ’s sake, the kid’s even wearing a red hoodie. 

“What are you doing?” Faith finally interrupts the weird crouching shuffle he’s got going on. She doesn’t have time to deal with precocious teenagers and also, somewhere out there- Derek’s probably feeling his creeper status being threatened. 

Stiles shrieks, flailing into some kind of half fighting stance, arms swinging wildly before he manages to take a step back, a second before Faith can stop him- which she’s going to, her hand’s already reaching out but Stiles’ foot has already managed to snag on the branch and he’s going down hard. 

Faith steps closer to him, frowning as he pants on the ground. “You alright kid?” she extends her hand. 

“Ow, yeah-“ Stiles rubs at the back of his head before looking at her hand, carefully. Faith can practically see the little wheels turning in his mind before he finally accepts it, wrapping his clammy fingers around hers and then oofs in surprise as she stands him upright in one quick movement. 

“So?” Faith asks again, crossing her arms in amusement as she watches Stiles flush. He keeps trying to get the leaves off him, swiping away at random places on his person even once he’s more or less clean again. “What are you doing?” Faith asks again. 

“Haha,” Stiles chuckles nervously before barrelling on, “you’re really strong. You must work out a lot. And also, eat a lot. Like, we all saw you downing that breakfast yesterday but I don’t know whether you were just especially hungry or that’s something like your regular portion size in which case, I have got to say, that your metabolism must be amazing. Slayer metabolism,” he pauses, looking thoughtfully somewhere in the direction of Faith’s middle, “speaking of slayer metabolism, do you guys age normally? Because you look young, but you must be older than Derek. Closer to Peter’s age in fact, but haha, it’s not like I’m calling you old. Peter’s old, and kinda skeezy. And you’re not,” he says earnestly, “you’re very beautiful, in that dangerous ‘I can murder you with my bare hands kind of way’, which I can’t decide whether it’s a slayer thing or a Hale thing or it might be both. Is it both?” Stiles asks and then stares at Faith like he’s honestly waiting for her answer. 

Oh dear god, Faith thinks in horror, this is like Xander and Willow’s lovechild standing in front of her. 

“I think,” she says faintly, “you should probably lower your sugar intake, is what I think.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You think Hales are beautiful?” Faith quirks an eyebrow, smirking at Stiles despite the absurdity of the situation. 

Here they are, in the woods, talking about teenage feelings and Faith needs a cemetery pronto to feel like it’s her that’s seventeen again and Xander’s about to start babbling something incoherent while stumbling behind her. 

Instead, it’s Stiles that starts babbling incoherently- “no. No, that’s not what I meant. My words were taken out of context, by which I meant that of course _you_ , yourself are beautiful and that’s irrelevant of whatever genetic lottery the Hale family must have won big time. Which, you know, they have. Along with the creepy, otherworldly intense powers and the whole ‘I can kill you faster than you can blink’ shtick. Which I’ve already said, so I’m repeating myself.”

“Is this your way of telling me that you think Derek’s good looking?” Faith asks slyly. 

Which stops Stiles’ babble in its tracks. He stares at her. “That’s not quite fair.” 

“So you _don’t_ think that Derek’s good looking?” Faith bites her lip. 

Stiles flails, throwing his hands up in exasperation- “oh my god _fine_! You know that’s not fair. Fine,” he glowers darkly, “fine. If you must know, then yes. I think Derek Hale is unfairly good looking. He’s the kind of good looking that should be displayed on teenagers’ posters and selling products that nobody needs. Derek’s the kind of good looking that it makes up for his lurking around lacrosse pitches, watching sixteen year old boys running around in shorts, handling their big sticks.” 

Stiles takes a deep breath, “Derek’s so good looking that sometimes, looking at him- you think that ‘hey, that dude can’t be real, and those abs can’t be real’ but then you look at the murder eyes and the fact that his eyebrows have probably never even been brushed and you realize that yes- someone, some deity out there had decided that Derek should exist, looking like that and with the personality that he has.” 

There’s a dead silence in the woods, even the wind has stopped gently ruffling the leaves and Stiles stands there panting. 

Maybe, Faith thinks idly, Xander’s theory about were sexuality is actually true. He had, after getting propositioned for the seventeenth time by a were, ventured that gender wasn’t really important for shifters. That, what mattered, was the desire. 

Of course, he had been talking while wearing the tattered remains of his track pants and a t-shirt ripped to shreds, clutching his feelings stick to him with a white-knuckled hand- so there might have been some laughing involved from the others, but the theory, nevertheless could still ring very, very true. 

“That’s oddly specific,” Faith says to Stiles whose blush is actually radioactive now and his skin is probably putting off enough heat to warn anything vaguely supernatural in the area not to come to their neck of the woods. “You’ve been thinking about Derek’s looks often, have you?” 

Stiles scuffs at the ground with the heel of his converse before apparently coming to a decision. He lifts his chin up, rolls his shoulders back and then looks Faith right in the eyes. 

“And? So what if I have? It’s not like it’s harming anyone and Derek’s probably the last dude on earth that would ever care about lowly, little human Stiles crushing on him- so it doesn’t matter.” 

His words aren’t funny and the belligerent, defiant attitude he’s just thrown back at her _definitely_ isn’t but Faith isn’t a shifter and slayers have never been that strict about the rules of respect. She doesn’t know these kids, not enough, despite her almost immediate fondness for them and the strange, heady connection she already feels towards her story. The story that’s buried here, with the rest of the Hales. 

Still though, she sighs- 

“Come on creeper, let’s get you home. You can come back during the day and stalk my window,” she pauses, “and I promise to even do something extra shifty to satisfy your Nancy Drew tendencies.” She nods towards the main road, “come on. I’ll walk you out to your car. You shouldn’t be in the woods at night.” 

Stiles doesn’t seem to be moving, shifting in place like he doesn’t know what he’s about to do so Faith takes it upon herself to start steering him towards the road, pushing him a little bit ahead of her. She makes sure to not touch his skin, keeping her hand right between his shoulder blades, not lower. 

Faith may not know Derek well, and he might have tried to attack her- but she can definitely understand where he’s coming from, and the way he’d looked at Stiles back at the warehouse, afraid and protective- well, she knows exactly what that means. 

“I wasn’t stalking you,” Stiles mutters into his hoodie but still stumbles ahead of her, “that wasn’t what I was doing.” 

“Oh really?” Faith inquires pleasantly. “So what were you doing?” 

“I-“ she can practically _feel_ Stiles gearing up for one of his epic babbles. 

So, Faith decides to interrupt him- “five words or less.” 

Stiles stops walking, glaring back at her with the force of a baby deer gearing up for an attack. 

It’s cute. Faith wants to pinch his cheek and coo, but his seventeen year old sense of masculinity might be offended so she doesn’t. 

“Out, for, a, walk-“ he raises an eyebrow triumphantly. “And I finished in under five words, so there.” 

“And then ruined it,” Faith clucks her tongue, “oh kid. You really can’t shut up, can you?” 

She turns him back around and starts nudging him back towards where she can see a blue jeep parked off the road. He’d even placed some branches and leaves on top of it, parked it beneath a lower hanging congregation of trees. 

“Nicely done Nancy Drew,” Faith stops pushing Stiles and flicks his ear approvingly, “I especially like the half-assed hiding job you did.” 

“Whatever, whatever… Honey badger don’t care. You just jelly of my mad ninja blending skills,” Stiles flips his head, almost as if he’s actually expecting a current of hair to flop back in place as he does. 

“No,” Faith tells the kid honestly because it feels like if she doesn’t tell him the truth, then his friend, the Potato headed kid, definitely won’t- “I’m just horrified at your vocabulary.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes, “you and my dad, I swear to god, you’d get along like a house on fire-“ he chokes off, staring guilty and terrified at her. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes out and inches a little bit away, back towards his Jeep and a part of Faith is so very tempted to just let him run back to his car, thinking that she’s what? Going to come after him with the scythe? 

“It’s fine,” Faith breathes out grimacing, disappointed that being a real adult means not scaring teenagers for kicks anymore, “don’t worry about it.” 

“Are you sure?” Stiles’ eyes are wide and worried. He seems to have forgotten the fear in a shockingly small amount of time. He steps towards her- “I really am sorry. I know it must have been a crazy day for you, and here I am, just running my mouth off.” 

God, Faith feels something clench painfully in her chest- Derek’s young and he’s still inexperienced but he also had the instincts to build a pack out of these good kids. Amazing ones, from what she’s seen of Stiles and Isaac and to be honest- now she kind of wants to know more about Potato kid, who she should really start calling by his name, if Isaac’s nursing a crush the size of Mount Rushmore on him and Stiles practically reeks of him like friendship’s just another fancy word for codependency that’s going to get your murdered in your sleep by a thousand year old ex-demon. 

Somewhere out there, Xander’s probably just twitched, Faith thinks wryly before turning back to Stiles. 

“Thanks,” she tells him and smiles bitterly, “but I’m used to things like this.” 

Stiles purses his lips, “yeah, well- you shouldn’t be. Nobody should be.” He falls silent and oddly enough, his huge eyed gaze is no longer the jittery, hyperactive look of a teenager just out in the world- but it’s of someone far more scarred. 

In that moment, skinny and pale, with bright Bambi eyes and a buzzcut that makes him look about twelve years old- Stiles feels older to her. More mature. And in a bad way, tired. Like he’s just exhausted. 

This isn’t what she’s come out here for, she thinks and throws a glance over her shoulder.

The woods smell like wet earth, like the heady, rich fur of predators and the night is young. 

Somewhere out there, she’d felt the spark of magic on her tongue and the brief thrill of something _other_ in her blood.

Faith needs to be on her way. 

Faith begins walking backwards, “go home Stiles. Do your homework. You’ve done enough for today.” 

She pauses before disappearing into the trees, “but thank you. You’re a good kid, growing up to be an excellent man,” and grins at him, teeth sharp as she lets herself fall back into the shadows. 

The last thing she hears from him is a quietly uttered, “creeper Hales and their disappearing tricks,” and lets herself smile again, before turning her attention back to the night. 

 

+

 

She finds the cemetery first, because of course she does. How else would a slayer’s life work? 

Quietly, Faith lets the sharp end of a stake fall into her palm and starts walking. 

The gravestones are generally fancier than the ones she’d seen back in Sunnydale, newer too, which makes sense for a tiny town in California. The mayor back in the old sinkhole had made sure that there’d be a large collection of the old graves for them to wander around, Faith had even seen two of his personas’ graves, the consecutive Richard Wilkinses, all buried under neat, symmetrical stones with the same neat, symmetrical letters carved. 

In retrospect, it seems like too much had been covered in Sunnydale, if three identical graves, with the same names hadn’t caused any kind of stir. Rona had been the one to point it out, back in that last year on the California Hellmouth- when Faith had taken them out patrolling, the minis still Potentials and all of them trembling from the mixture of fear and anticipation. 

The graves here are a mishmash of large, expensive marble busts and simpler headstones. The cemetery is neater too, laid out in neat parallel lines, nothing like the increasingly chaotic expansion of Sunnydale- where graves had started spreading out into the surrounding park, until even the most peaceful of clearings had become a resting place for someone. Faith’s seen that someone’s headstone, she still has the words carved into her mind. A reminder of things that can go bad, and a promise of the peace that’s owed to them. 

She stops beneath a large tree, branches hanging low enough to cover her and lets her senses spread. There are no freshly dug graves which means that no one will rise tonight. At least here. So, she allows herself a moment of relaxation- inhales the night air and then freezes. 

It’s that smell again. The one from before. Like apples and cinnamon, overlaid over the air before a lightning strike- ozone. 

It’s magic. 

She starts jogging towards the source of it, a frown on her face as she tries to figure out what kind of magic it is. 

Slayers had never been meant to work with the magical side of the equation, that’s what the watchers have always been for and Faith- well, she’s never been one to go beyond the whole ‘reaping terrible violence and destroying as many things as she could’ thing. 

She likes the simpler things in life. Punch, kick, decapitate and the problem’s solved. Want, take, have- wasn’t that how the old saying went?

Magic, admittedly, is a bit more complex than that. 

Her thoughts lead her to what she can recognize as the ‘nice’ part of town. Large, mansion like houses with wrought iron gates and intercom systems. She hums quietly to herself as she walks down the block to where a house stands, one of the walls covered in ivy, with large windows and cheery blue paint on the trim. 

The ozone cinnamon smell ends here. Stops. 

Faith starts looking around for any identifying markers, maybe a mailbox, or a letter- _anything_ that will allow her to find whoever it was that was just casting inside. There’s no mailbox, there are no conveniently dropped letters on the ground or even more conveniently dropped business cards easily letting her know exactly who it is that lives in the house. 

She’s about to turn away and leave, maybe can back tomorrow with a member of Derek’s pack when she notices the small plaque besides the intercom box. Faith heads towards it, only noticing the rotating camera as she walks up. 

Oh well, there’s really no point in trying to be inconspicuous now- not after she’s been practically crawling on the ground like a bloodhound, trying to sniff out any kind of information. She keeps moving.

The plaque, she runs her fingers over it, is made out of iron and Faith has to smirk. Either somebody inside knew exactly what they were doing when they installed it, or they just got damn lucky. It’s overlaid with a black plastic finish where the letters of the owners’ are carved and Faith traces them- smirking up belligerently at the camera as she does. 

‘ _Martin_ ’. 

Should be easy to find in a town this size. 

 

+

 

She’s about to start heading back when she hears the soft rustling up ahead of her. 

Faith stops moving, cocks her head and waits. Her body’s poised, ready for action and not a small part of her is actually _anticipating_ something going wrong. She wants violence. 

Especially after the day she’s had. 

Instead, a large wolf, dappled grey with a black snout walks out of the trees. Its eyes are a bright, electric blue and Faith watches it warily. 

The wolf comes up to her upper thigh, taller than any dog she’s ever seen but smaller than the majority of the monsters she’s fought before. In all fairness, it’s intimidating- the danger coming off its every move, the easy, rolling gait of it and especially- the wolf’s snout, large enough to fit any of her body parts certainly. 

What makes Faith pause though, is the look in its eyes. The simple, intelligent recognition combined with the drive that goes far beyond that of a simple animal. 

Faith steps forward, “Derek?” 

The wolf looks at her with a very human sense of exasperation and Faith thinks that if it was human, then it would definitely be rolling its eyes right now. 

She frowns, “Peter?” 

The wolf, _Peter_ inclines his head and then does an odd, jerking sort of motion as if it’s motioning her to follow him into the woods. He looks a confusing mixture between desperation and sadness, like he’s not sure about whether what he’s going to do is the best of ideas but he knows that it’s the only choice he really has. 

And, really, Faith came to Beacon Hills for a reason. 

She exhales and then nods. “fine” before sliding out one of her favourite daggers, just in case, and then gesturing at the wolf- “lead the way, cause _I_ sure as hell have no idea where we’re going.” 

Peter runs fast as the wolf, four legs to her two but she’s been chasing monsters for half her life so she keeps easily- Faith’s the slayer who gets sent the minis to train on marathon running. Stamina and endurance. Some of the Sunnydale girls even use her training program as a means of punishment. 

They run easily and Faith can see, from the easy kind of confidence that Peter the wolf is showing as he runs, that he’s not hiding his true speed from her. In a way, it’s almost exhilarating and she doesn’t slow down as they start heading up a slope, to where she can see the outline of a large house. Faith runs quick, a soft sense of recognition pulling her forward. 

Until the despair slams into her, so thick and cloying that Faith drops to her knees gasping for air. It’s like the worst kind of pain imaginable, both physical and emotional- like everything good, everything that she’s ever wanted has been ripped away from her, torn out from her still raw and bleeding and Faith couldn’t fight it. Wasn’t strong enough. The pain lashes through her insides, a bright, sharp bolt of lightning that strikes at her and sizzles in her blood until Faith realizes that it’s not only her blood that’s on fire. It’s her skin too, her hair, her everything, all burning up in flames. 

Somebody’s screaming out there and Faith realizes that she’s on the ground, trying to push the flames out but the screaming’s hurting her ears. A loud, terrible keening wail of pain and she’s about to slam into Peter, tell him to shut up whoever’s there when the simple thought that its’ _her_ that’s screaming stops her. 

“Oh god,” she gasps before letting out another wail, her fingernails are sliding off, burning and her skin’s bubbling from her bones. It’s horrible, soul destroying and once upon a time, Faith had thought that being stabbed by her sister slayer was bad, that taking Orpheus and letting Angelus pummel her into the ground was awful, going up against Jasmine and the Beast but this is worse. This is destroying her from the inside out, taking away everything she’s ever wanted and ever loved and then setting it one fire. 

“Please,” she sobs and sobs, small gasps of air the only thing she can take in between the screams, “please just kill me. Peter _please_!” She’s screaming again, 

Faith realizes kind of distantly, vaguely, aware that the pain’s become too much for her body to handle and then, it’s almost shocking, like all of her senses being shut down slowly, the pain starts retreating and she starts being able to sense the air moving past her wet face in a blur of movement, a thick blanket thrown over everything, the debilitating, soul crushing feeling of being burned alive- it stops. 

She’s in somebody’s arms, Faith thinks and then _pushes_ , throwing her body off whoever it is and landing with a thud on the ground. Her ears start clearing as she crawls and the tears are still falling but it’s less of a desperate sobbing, more of an uncontrollable thing- something that her body’s doing to cope with the intensity of what she’s just experienced. 

Faith’s heart’s still thundering and she keeps sucking in breath after breath as she crawls away from the place where she felt like she died. 

There’s a familiar snarl behind her, like thunder rolling over gravel and Faith would stop, would turn around only it’s too much. The monsters may not be as big as she’s used to, but suddenly- she feels too young, too inexperienced to fight even the ones that are there. 

Behind her, it’s Derek, she recognizes as the yelling- “what the hell did you do? What did you _do_ to her Peter?” but in front of her, the woods are clearing and the air feels lighter and she never wanted to know this. Never wanted to burn alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone that's read, reviewed, bookmarked and left a kudos on this thing. You guys are pure love.


	7. Chapter 7

Pain, Faith knows from years of experience, is something that can be transcended. With enough experience, you can go beyond the initial moment of hurt where you come out onto the other side- and it’s almost a sort of pleasure that crests there. 

Once you reach the pinnacle of your hurt, you become free. 

Behind her, bones are breaking and Faith climbs to her feet. She swipes angrily at her face before taking a deep breath. 

The snarling breaks for a moment and that’s when she strikes, _flinging_ herself in the middle of the fighting werewolves, both of them wolfed out and both dripping from gashes in their fur. 

“ _Stop_ ,” she holds Peter by the throat, arm splayed out in front of her to stop Derek from attacking. “It wasn’t him,” she nods at Peter’s bright red eyes, “he didn’t do it.” 

Beneath her hold, Peter’s skin is unbearably hot and his breath smells like blood and something sweet. 

“You were hurt,” Derek snarls out, “I saw you.” 

Faith nods, “well, yes- that I was. Thank you for noticing, but we’re really going to have a talk when your first reaction to someone getting hurt is wreaking violence on whoever’s closest to you.” 

Derek flinches away form her at that and Faith immediately feels the bottom of her stomach drop out. What trauma has she managed to stumble on now?  
Derek's usual mask of cold efficiency comes back, but Faith’s been around hormonal slayers for too long to let it fool her. 

She makes a note to herself to start digging in what really happened. They’re all so messed up, so broken and Derek- Faith steps forward, towards him, letting her arm drop away from Peter- Derek’s still so _young_. 

“Hey,” she says quietly and ducks her head, looking at him through her lashes. It’s a deliberately submissive pose, something that she had learned to do to put natural predators at ease and usually, Faith wouldn’t be bothering with niceties but this kid practically _radiates_ loneliness and Faith’s been broken herself for too long not to recognize it in him as well. “Hey, it’s okay,” she says and smiles, “you did good. You thought you were protecting me. That’s pretty awesome of you.”

Derek looks impenetrable again- a solid fortress of muscle and fangs but for a brief second, he had almost looked soft, vulnerable. 

“What was that?” he crosses his arms and stares at her, pointedly ignoring Peter sulking at Faith’s back. “Back there?”

“Psychic vision,” Faith sighs tiredly and runs a hand through her hair. It feels like half the forest’s tangled in it and it’s going to be a bitch to get out later on. 

If Buffy was here, she’d be lecturing about fighting with your hair pulled back. Well, no- if Buffy was here, she’d probably have already slipped into her cold, scary place and have started ordering everyone around while making terrible speeches. 

Peter speaks up tentatively, stepping from behind Faith’s back closer to Derek. If it wasn’t a sad testament to their lives, Faith would find it actually kind of hilarious- the almost identical expressions of worry on their faces. “Do these visions happen… _often_?” he raises his eyebrows disbelievingly and Faith’s so glad that Spike isn’t here right now for a snarkfest with this one. 

“I’m a slayer, visions come with the whole package-” Faith snaps sharply back at him, which you know, isn’t really something that’s his fault or even _true_ but sue her. Peter could have told her where he was taking her, he could have warned her and maybe Faith wouldn’t have been so blindsided by everything getting slammed into her at once. 

“I’ve never heard of that,” Peter frowns, choosing to ignore her outburst. 

Faith shakes her head, “it’s not really common knowledge.” She reaches into one of her pockets, almost grinning at the hair tie that she finds there. After pulling up the mess on her head into some semblance of order, Faith cracks her neck and finally asks the question that she’s pretty sure both her and Derek are dying to ask- “why did you take me up here?” 

Peter’s features shift back to human, a process that’s never really stopped being a little jarring to Faith- the soft crackle that only her supernatural hearing allows her to notice and the disappearance of the extraneous hair, which you know, where does it _go_?

He looks at her then, something guilty and pained painted so clearly on her features that the paranoid, cynical part of Faith, hardened after years of fighting for her life and a shitty beginning to everything- it makes her question whether Peter’s emotions are real. 

Derek’s awkward and slightly shitty tendency to get violent aside, it seems stupidly easy to read him. 

Peter’s different. Peter’s a smirk and sassy questions, he’s an easily quirked lip and sarcasm leeching out of every pore. 

“I wanted to show you,” Peter says slowly, “the place where our family burned alive,” his eyes flicker to Derek’s dark expression, “but more importantly, I wanted to show you where our family _lived_.” 

He’s earnest and his expression practically begs for her to trust him. 

Faith takes an unconscious step backward, stepping into Derek’s personal space instinctively. Dimly, she registers his faint surprise at her tacit siding with him but at this point, Faith’s running on instinct alone and there’s something about Derek that tells her all she needs to know. 

Peter’s harder to figure out. 

Faith’s just too tired for that right now, for trying to peel back layers and trying to figure out the true meaning behind his words. 

“I have to go,” she says firmly, ignoring the widening of Peter’s eyes at her movement, the easy way that Derek stands next to her and the automatic loosening of her shoulders at the heat coming off him- “I’ll be back later. But I have to go.” 

Peter says nothing and Derek keeps watching her, that cold look of his gone but something wary and almost _hopeful_ taking its place. Faith turns around and starts walking as fast as she can, moving swiftly enough to catch the leaves rustling with her speed. 

At the edge of the woods leading to the inn, and wow- she had thought that Sunnydale had been perfectly planned for all the predators to move in town, but Beacon Hills is rapidly gaining on her list with it’s abundance of creepy trees around and enough coverage to conceal a pack of werewolves. 

‘Or anything else that might be moving around after dark,’ the slayer in her says, the predator that never sleeps. The monster that scares the monsters, isn’t that how it goes?

“Thank you,” Faith says under her breath, not turning her head back to the silent presence behind her, “you didn’t have to walk me back. I’m a big girl, but I _do_ appreciate it.” 

There’s a hint of red that she catches but it’s gone when she finally starts the trek towards to the inn’s back door. 

 

+

She sends Dawn the e-mail before going to bed. 

_‘ I need a psychic ward. Something to bar visions, small and removable. Everything is fine, I promise. Don’t tell your sister about this._ ’ 

 

+

 

The next day, she goes back to the diner from when she had first come to town. The early morning crowd’s still the same, minus Derek’s pack lurking in a corner. Faith settles onto a high chair beside the counter, nodding over at one of the waitresses- not Sheila this time, as she reaches over for the menu. 

She’s sipping into her coffee, the fog from yesterday lifting slightly as the hot liquid burns down her throat, when Stiles throws himself next to her. 

“Hey, hey now!” he grins widely and flays his arms widely, barely missing knocking over a salt shaker with his enthusiasm. “What are the chances of running into you here? Weird, right?” he beams down at her, amber eyes practically doubled in size from how hard he’s trying to seem innocent. 

Faith snorts, “yeah kid, cause I’m sure that in the two days I’ve been in this dinky little town- I would have had time to explore all the hot spots.” 

Stiles’ face transforms immediately, “Beacon Hills isn’t _dinky_ ,” he says and then pokes her shoulder. 

Faith can _feel_ her eyebrows rising incredulously as she stares down at his hand then up at him. It’s been way too long since an almost stranger’s touched her without premeditated thought. The company she tends to keep these days are all pretty aware of what she is and what she can do to them. 

Stiles gulps at her look, like he’s just starting to realize the same thing- “sorry,” he lets out a nervous laugh, “haha, just going to put my hand down now.” He drops it, “but _boy_ you and Derek have the same glare.”

Faith finishes her coffee before answering him with a wry look, “you talk about Derek a _lot_ , anyone ever tell you that?” 

It’s amazing, how fast and how brightly the kid flushes at her question and Faith feels a brief flare of amusement curl up inside the darkness of the previous day. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, taking mercy on Stiles who exhales a long breath like a deflating blowfish and slowly returns back to his usual paleness. 

“Well,” Stiles clambers onto the chair next to hers, “remember how you said that I could lurk in the light of day? So? Guess what I’m doing?” 

Faith rubs at the bridge of her nose in exasperation. It’s at moments like these when she feels a sudden and terrifying sympathy for Giles who must have been part _saint_ not to have murdered them all while they were in high school. 

“I never said that,” she tells Stiles, “don’t put words in my mouth.” 

“You _implied_ it,” Stiles says earnestly and gives her an enthusiastic grin, “there was lots of implying going on. I could tell by the hereditary eyebrow action.” 

Somewhere out there, Faith’s sure that Giles is sipping on some expensive Scotch and having a laugh of pure _vengeance_ at the thought of the teenagers he had practically helped raise now having to be responsible for teenagers of their own. Faith had honestly and a little optimistically, she thinks now, thought that by avoiding being tied down to any of the slayer houses she had escaped the responsibility of not killing hormonal adolescents. 

It’s not looking like it, she blinks at Stiles’ awed expression as the waitress drops a triple sized portion of their bacon and pancakes in front of Faith. Giles’ mojo with justice demons must be rock _solid_. 

“Are you just going to follow me around if I say no?” Faith already knows the answer. She can tell by the easy way that Stiles is tracking each of the diner’s patrons, the quiet, steely strength beneath his loud grins and the beaming puppy-dog eyes. 

“What do you think?” Stiles asks in return and bends forward, sliding one of the empty plates towards himself before taking a fork and spearing two pancakes over onto his plate. 

She’s going to have to buy Giles a _really_ expensive bottle of something fiery with a name that she can’t pronounce, Faith bows to the inevitable. 

She shakes her head, “alright, _fine_. But if you steal food from me one more goddamn time, I _will_ stick this fork into your hand- you get me?” 

Stiles pauses, gaping unattractively with half the chewed pancake clearly visible in his mouth. 

“Ugh, god- _chew_ ,” Faith makes a face before closing his mouth for him. Honestly, teenagers these days. 

 

+

 

“I would say that I’m surprised that you drive what is basically sex on wheels, but I’d be lying-“ Stiles says thoughtfully before pulling the seatbelt across his chest. 

Turning to Faith, he asks –“ so, what are we up to? Where’re we going? Is this going to be some kind of super sleuthing slayer business, in which case, I’m just going to say ‘ _exciting_ ’,” his voice goes high pitched as he warbles the word ridiculously, “or what? Come on, tell me, tell me!” 

Faith sighs before peeling out of the parking lot, smirking as she sees Stiles’ hand flying for the ‘oh shit’ handle. “I shouldn’t have bought you that cup of coffee,” she says, “but it’s a lesson I’ll learn for next time.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles nods his head, fingers jumping restlessly on his knee to some unknown rhythm- “you really shouldn’t have, but it’s alright. You couldn’t have known.” 

Faith raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I have ADD,” Stiles explains, “but you couldn’t have known about it, and Derek’s banned any of the pack from letting me have caffeine. You just haven’t been around long enough to get an earful of one of his lectures.” He grins widely at her, “or you know, his manly grunts of manpain and eyebrows.” 

There’s a long pause in the car while Faith tries to figure out whether laughter is appropriate, considering yesterday’s events but then finally Stiles shifts in his seat before turning to her- “so, what’s the plan for today?”

Faith makes the turn into the center of town calmly, silently, glancing at the boy out of the corner when she sees the realization hit him. 

“The _library_?” Stiles says slowly, incredulously, stretching it out like he thinks it’s going to get his answers sooner. “Why’re we going there?” 

“ _I_ ”, Faith emphasizes as she parks a little ways away from the entrance, “am going to get as much information on the Hales as I can. Everything I can dig up. I don’t know about you, but since you seem hell-bent on following me around- I’m going to go ahead and guess that you’re going to park your skinny butt on the chair next to mine and help me.” 

Stiles makes an affronted noise as he gets out, jogging to keep up with her before they enter the library. 

“I’ll have you know that my butt is very delectable,” he says highly, throwing his chin in the air as he sails into the open doors, “and prized.”

“ _Right_ ,” Faith draws out, shaking her head as she follows him into the library- “I’ll make sure to keep that in mind the next time I get the urge to go to jail for shenanigans with a minor.” 

Stiles’ grin is infectious and somehow it becomes easier to smile back at him in a building that smells of books and knowledge, old leather and dusty pages. Goddamn Sunnydale syndrome, Faith thinks of the old high school library before everything had blown to shit and lets the memories, for once easy and bright, wash over her. 

 

+

 

Because fate is a cruel bitch and hates her with a needless, pointless kind of intensity- the hunter from the other night comes across her standing in a tree, watching the Martin house at three o clock that night. 

He raises his crossbow a little higher, pointing it unerringly at the branch on which Faith is standing, back flattened against the bark of the large oak tree, shadows cloaking her. 

“You know, it’s interesting-“ Argent says wonderingly, arrow pointed right at her. 

“What is?” Faith finally asks, figuring that ignoring him won’t make him go away and she’s thirty two years old so a pointless sulk isn’t going to make the situation any better. 

Also, Argent’s looking pretty cute with that crossbow in his arms. Faith kind of wants to take him apart and see how he works. It’s a problem that she gets with cute guys that threaten her. 

“A contact of mine mentioned meeting a Caridad Ramirez down in New Mexico yesterday,” Argent says, cocking an eyebrow over those criminally attractive eyes of his. “Says that she almost dislocated his arm but then helped him take out a nest of vampires with only a stake and an axe.” 

Damn it, this is the reason why Buffy gave that long talk about having each of the senior slayers’ schedules uploaded to their network. 

“Whaddya know?” Faith chuckles from the tree, “there’s another hot chick with superpowers out there with my name… That’s so _strange_ and unusual and as soon as I’m done with this tree up here, I’ll get right on it.”

“How about you get down here Miss Lehane and we have a conversation like two civilized…” Argent pauses before sneering out the words, “ _adults_?” 

And just like that, he gets downgraded from a really cute guy that Faith could have potentially rolled around with while trying to deal with the family drama up here to yet another douchey hunter with a hard-on for anything remotely supernatural. 

Faith cracks her neck, watching the curtains fluttering in the Martin house. There’s no breeze. 

“I’m going to go ahead and assume that you’ve heard of me then?” she calls down. 

Argent cocks the crossbow before smiling, “Dean Winchester had quite the stories to tell.” 

Of course Winchester sold her out to a fellow hunter, because every green eyed guy that she’s come across in the last five years has had Faith on some kind of supernatural hit list within an hour of meeting her. Also, Faith thinks back fondly, there might have been the issue of her having flirted with Winchester’s best blue eyed pal but that’s neither here nor there. 

“Are you coming down Miss Lehane, or do I have to use more persuasive methods?” Argent asks in a low voice. Ooh, threats- something sharp bubbles in the base of Faith’s spine, a hot curl that sparks as she narrows her eyes and exhales. 

The air whooshes past her as she drops down from the branch, landing in a crouch before the stunned looking hunter. 

“Hey there cutie,” she purrs before rapidly straightening and _moving_ , ripping the crossbow out of Argent’s hands and training it back on him. 

Except Argent has a wicked looking bowie knife trained on her too and both of them blink, staring at each other before Faith lets an easy, hot smile curl its way around her lips. 

“Nice… _knife_ ,” she leers at him with a wink as Argent’s face grows more pained. It’s beautiful, how fast she can get a reaction out of him. 

Faith’s been provoking dangerous people for shits and giggles since she sprouted breasts and it’s still a thrill to see how fast she can mess with people’s heads. 

Even if they _are_ bigoted assholes. With unfairly pretty eyes. 

“Why... are... you... in... _my_ town?” Argent grits out, raising the knife a little higher so that Faith’s forced to lift her chin as well. 

She grins and notches the arrow into the hollow of Argent’s neck, where the point presses prettily into his stubbled skin. 

“Your town?” Faith smirks, lips trembling from merriment. “Oh hell, is this the wild west now? Are you going to come after me with a posse of your nearest and dearest?” 

Argent narrows his eyes before an ugly, sharp smile blooms- “I've been hearing rumours that you’ve become close to the Stilinski boy. Does that mean you’re close to the rest of the animals he hangs around with?” 

Anger punches through her and before Faith knows what’s happening, there’s a sharp cut on her neck and she’s straddling Argent’s body, fist hanging low over his face. Her teeth are bared and she knows she’s growling but fuck it- “never, _ever_ call them animals again. You hear me?” she tightens her fist, a little shocked to see her arm trembling with the desire to break something pretty in Argent’s face. 

“I was right,” Argent pants, “you’re here for _Hale_ , aren’t you?” 

“What do you want, hunter?” Faith tightens her hold on Argent’s neck, tipping it back so that his throat’s fully exposed to her. Something dark and primal revels at this sight of vulnerability, how easily she can make him _submit_ to her, take away his little toys and bind him- this cocky asshole that’s been running around unchecked for god knows only how long. 

He’s silent and Faith leans over, digging with her nails into the soft skin beneath his earlobes. It has to be painful she knows but still he doesn’t make a sound. 

“ _Look_ at me,” Faith growls out. 

Argent’s eyes when he opens them are enough of a shock for her to rear back, loosen her hold on him and allow him to kick her off his chest and flip backwards into a low crouch. He keeps his gaze trained on her and Faith stares back, watching him warily. 

Christ, his pupils had been so dilated when she’d been hurting him that it looked like the grey was only a thin ring around the black. His skin is flushed though he stares back at her with defiance and something else, something that Faith can recognize all too easily on Argent’s pretty face- guilt. 

He liked it. The manhandling. 

“Did he tell you about the Alpha pack?” Argent bites out, looking all kinds of angry and confused. 

The sharp curl from before, from when she had been standing in the tree and bantering with the man as easy as breathing, has become something else. Something that Faith has no time for or any inclination. 

“What?” she straightens up, not meeting his eyes. 

“The Alpha pack of werewolves, they’re in town,” Argent says with all traces of previous malice leeching from his words. Now he just sounds tired and worried. 

That’s what that was. The scent of power on the edge of town, blood and violence on the wind. Fuck, how long’s it been since she’s had to deal with were politics? 

“Derek’s a new Alpha,” Faith says slowly, horror widening her eyes as she finally looks back at the rumpled hunter before her, “he hasn’t been tested yet.” 

“No,” Argent shakes his head wearily, “he hasn’t. And from what we’ve seen in the last year and a half, he’s not likely to pass any of their tests.” He drops his defensive stance before bending to pick up his crossbow from where Faith had dropped it, “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says before turning to walk away, “because if you don’t, the town’s going to get overrun with wolves on the hunt for new territory.” Argent pauses, “Hale might be new and inexperienced… but he’s still the best alternative to a slew of bad choices. It would be in neither of our interests if he ends up dead.” 

He turns back and starts walking away, a slight limp from where Faith might have kicked his knee out from under him before slamming his head into the ground earlier. 

There’s a reason why slayers don’t get involved in were politics, Faith thinks dully, heart beating slowly and lethargically in her chest like it too, wants to curl up and not think about the clusterfuck heading their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm on Tumblr- shulik1. I welcome all who aren't easily startled, that like writing, art, fanfic, gay wolves, gay angels, hip hop. Everything and anything. 
> 
> Also, I post snippets of upcoming chapters, talk about writing difficulties and talk about my original work. 
> 
> I love people and I talk too much in any medium.


	8. Chapter 8

The thing is, if she had been younger or stupider or maybe even just a tiny bit _angrier_ \- Faith would have had no problems lying to the gang about what’s happening. The instinct’s still in her, the need to keep this private and safe, tucked close to her chest, close to that small warmth that she’s starting to feel for these kids and for Derek. She still wants to keep them separate from the rest of her world, from the violence and the fighting. From the unending war that they fight every night, soldiers of destiny and choice. 

These kids, no matter how much they’ve faced in such a short period of time- they’re still innocent. 

Faith wants to keep them that way for as long as she can, wants to keep them safe and naïve. There’s a raw kind of yearning within her, to let the children stay children for a while longer- let the worst that they’ve faced be human hunters, monsters of the night. 

But it’s too late in the game and Faith, standing in front of her window, watching the thin sliver of moon edge ever closer- she knows exactly what she has to do. 

Chris Argent’s words still echo in her mind. 

Out of all the deluded humans that she’s met over the years, and considering that they’d worked with Singer’s merry little band of idiots for a little while two years ago- Argent’s not that bad. 

She sighs and boots up her laptop, checks Skype for her list of contacts. There are a couple of baby slayers wishing her a safe trip, a witch or two complaining about the borders and one of Xander’s long-winded rants about hyenas and perverted French vampires forcing him to wear French lace, which makes him feel froofier than usual. 

Buffy’s not online. 

“Hello?” Buffy sounds a little winded when she picks up her cellphone and belatedly, Faith realizes that it’s probably even later where she is. 

“Faith, everything alright?” 

“ Everything’s five by five B,” Faith clears her throat, cracks her neck to try and rid herself of some of the nervous tension and then barrels on with it, “I need to talk to you though.” 

There’s a beat before Buffy’s tone changes, going from a surprisingly peppy thirty one year old to weathered general of an army in a blink- “is it big? Are you safe right now?” 

“I’m fine now B,” Faith smiles a little, puts both of her feet- still clad in her old shitkicker boots, on the table and feels a little bit like she’s still nineteen and trying to rebel in whatever way possible. “But there might be something coming.” 

“An hour on Skype?” Buffy grunts and then there’s the sound of her fist hitting flesh. It’s a sound that Faith’s gotten so used to over the years, she can make out the exact moment that skin spits under Buffy’s hand. 

Good, at least she’s not fighting something that she should have backup for. 

“Sure,” Faith exhales, “you alright over there?” 

“Yeah, yeah I’m good-“ Buffy sounds a little distracted, “it’s just…I’m in Azkaban? There’s a riot?” 

Briefly, Willow’s initial orientation session flashes through Faith’s mind. Azkaban’s the prison, the one on the water with what seems like an entire Hollywood’s movie production budget spent on creepy special effects and thematically jagged rocks rising out of the ocean. 

Faith’s boots thud off the table as she rises, “you need help? You got everything covered?” 

“It’s a small riot,” Buffy says with what sounds like a disturbing kind of glee, “just enough to get the blood flowing before bedtime.” Which is understandable. It’s been a while for both her and Buffy, being able to fight on the frontlines without a squadron of minis popping out of the nearest bushes, practically vibrating with enthusiasm at getting to help. 

“Alright, just call me when you’re done.” 

“Sure, sure-“ Buffy’s back to being distracted again but not before a boom and the sound of rocks falling echoes over the line, “talk to you soon.” 

 

\+ 

 

Buffy has a split lip and a shiner that’s already turning yellow. 

She’s also grinning like a crazywoman, practically beaming into the camera. 

“It was _awesome_ ,” she says breathily, eyes lighting up like a girl after a first date. 

Faith quirks an eyebrow, fond and amused and so stupidly dependent on this tiny, blonde girl to keep living that it’s impossible to think of. “Any casualties?” 

“No,” Buffy shakes her head, “it went smooth as butter. Or maybe something even smoother,” her brows furrow out and she looks wistful, “like a good glass of Scotch.” 

Over the years, it’d been Buffy who’d developed a surprising appetite for good spirits. Privately, Faith thinks that Spike’s influence had more of an effect on Buffy than any one of the Scoobies liked to think about- what with Spike’s moral ambiguity and his long standing rivalry with Buffy’s other blood sucking true love. 

“Speaking of Scotch,” Faith segues perfectly and watches as Buffy tenses, all wistfulness disappearing almost immediately, “there might be a little problem coming this way.” 

“Well,” Buffy motions with her hand, “ _do_ go on. This is already about as much mystery as I can take.” 

“There’s a pack of alphas on the way to town,” Faith starts, “Derek’s too new to present much of a challenge and his pack’s just kids.” 

Buffy frowns, leans back on her chair, studying the camera with all their combined years of experience. 

“I’m sorry if this is rude,” she says with a line between her eyebrows, “but that doesn’t exactly scream ‘problem’ for you or me.” 

And it wouldn’t have been. 

At any other time. 

Faith would have taken care of things, efficiently and with enough thoroughness to make Giles proud- but things after Virginia are a little bit different. _She’s_ different and as shitty as it is to admit it, Faith’s not exactly feeling like her old confident self when it comes to her decision-making skills. 

“That’s not the problem…” she takes a breath, wills her heart to stop hurting so much it’s practically ripping itself in two. “Who do we know that’s obsessed with werewolves and power? Who do we know that calls himself an alpha?”

Faith looks down at her hands, and for a moment, a brief horrifying blink in time- she sees the blood that had stained them, feels the magic in her blood, old and heady. Like electricity racing through her veins, scrambling all of her thoughts and killing whatever thought processes she’d come to rely on as purely her own. 

“Oh,” Buffy’s voice when she gets it is small. There’s a beat before, “I’m going to get Vi to take over here, I’m coming back to help.” 

“No!” Faith whips her head up, “don’t.” 

Buffy looks at her, worried and tense. Taut with the memories of what had happened and what had _nearly_ happened. 

What Faith had allowed to happen. 

“What are you talking about? I should be there,” Buffy says fiercely, “I should be helping you.” 

“B,” Faith says tiredly, feeling pulled down by everything that happened to her and what’s still coming- “I’m thirty two. I’m a slayer, I can’t be babysat every time something happens to hurt my feelings.” 

“Your _feelings_?” Buffy snaps back, ferocious and _pissed_. “You almost _died_ there, you were so close that I could _feel_ it leaking out of you, you stupid, stubborn bitch. Don’t talk to me about feelings when I had to sit there and feel you goddamn slipping away!” 

There are few things that Faith remembers about that night. 

She remembers laying on the ground, her back broken and blood pooling beneath her head. The pain had become almost inconsequential then, so far removed it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was a pair of the bluest eyes she’d seen and a headful of golden curls, worry and horror and so much rage radiating off him that it mixed in with the sounds of violence, the smell of blood on the air, gave everything a bitter, dark tint. None of that had matted to her in that moment. 

Love mattered. 

Above her, Willow had been fighting another witch, older than anyone had thought her to be and Xander and a lithe, blonde form were throwing vampires around. 

If she had to die, Faith remembers smiling into his face, remembers holding his hand so tight that if it had been anyone else- the bones would have been crushed instantly, if she had to die- then it wasn’t really such a bad way to go. 

Too bad, all things considered, what he had done afterwards. 

“Faith,” Buffy brings her back to the present, “do you need me to come?” 

There are fewer things better for a broken heart than the possibility of killing the man that broke it. 

“No,” Faith says decisively and shakes her head, “I’ve got it.” 

“Alright,” Buffy looks conflicted but she, at least, knows the extent to which Faith would go to if it means taking back her mind, her heart. “At least get a team on standby and make sure that you’re prepared. That your nephew’s prepared.” 

Her smile is feral and mean, and her heart beats a strange staccato rhythm as she smiles. “Don’t worry B,” Faith says with something like her old bloodlust coloring her words, “I’m going to take care of things once and for _all_.” 

Buffy, before she signs off looks wary but she smiles, just a small quirk of her lips and some of her old good humor in her eyes- “that’s what I’m afraid of.” 

 

+

 

Derek’s Camaro is waiting for her in the morning and the man himself is standing, long and lithe in front of it. It’s eight in the goddamn am and he’s already wearing leather and his eyebrows are doing that thing where it looks like he doesn’t know whether to be nervous or pissed off. 

There’s probably a very small difference between the two for Derek Hale. 

“Well, well, well- what do we have here?” Faith quirks an eyebrow. 

Something sad and filled with sorrow flashes in Derek’s face, too fast for her to understand but slow enough for her to catch it. He crosses his arms, glares before biting off- “have you eaten yet?” 

It’s pretty hilarious, how awkward the guy really is. 

“No,” Faith shakes her head slowly, blinking up at him before remembering that her sunglasses are perched on top of her head. So sue her, she’s not a morning person. Show her one slayer who is. 

“Do you want to?” Derek’s eyebrows look like they’re at war with each other. A black caterpillar trying to eat it’s neighbour. 

“Sure,” Faith nods and pokes him in the belly, which isn’t a belly at all but more what feels like an insanely ripped six pack giving off enough body heat to make even _her_ feel uncomfortably soft. She resolves to go for a run in the morning. 

“Aren’t you hot in that thing?” she motions at the leather jacket. 

Derek blinks at her before slowly looking back at his leather jacket, like he can’t possibly imagine a scenario when he’d be uncomfortable in it. 

“No?” he says a tiny bit uncertainly before clearing his throat. “No, I’m fine.” 

“Well alright,” Faith shrugs, “suit yourself. Now are you actually going to drive us somewhere or are you going to keep standing in front of your car like you’ve got nowhere to go?” 

Derek flushes before opening the door for her, all gentlemanly and shit and then pointedly not meeting her eyes when Faith grins at him and says “nice manners”, before getting in. 

The diner’s almost empty when they pull up and Sheila, who’s never had a moment with Faith where she didn’t butt in with the least appropriate remark possible practically _flies_ at them when they settle into a window booth. 

“You been sleeping well hon?” she quirks an eyebrow, shooting interested, curious glances between Faith and Derek. 

Derek doesn’t help his case of looking intensely, intensely sketchy by being silent as he blinks warily back at her. 

“Who’s this then?” Sheila changes tactics, used to Faith’s silence in the mornings and apparently undeterred by the murder brows. “Your young man? I didn’t know you knew anyone in town,” she shakes her head with a fond smile, “but you _are_ gorgeous and so’s he, so I can understand where you’re coming from.” 

Derek looks horrified across the table and Faith takes this moment to marvel at the fact that apparently, Derek Hale- alpha werewolf, can be this easily embarrassed by a gossipy waitress. 

“No,” Faith grins at the woman, “he’s not my young man.” 

“Really?” Sheila looks intensely sceptical, appraising Derek so thoroughly that he twitches in place. 

“I’m his aunt,” Faith sighs before ordering enough food for the two of them to feed a small army. 

Sheila writes everything down and then shoots Faith a conspiratorial grin, “that appetite of yours must be genetic then.” She eyes her little notebook with an impressed eye, “how you two can stay so skinny and eat like goddamn racehorces-…” 

“Fast metabolisms,” Derek cuts in, “m’am.” 

Sheila melts at that, practically cooing as she leans over to pet Derek’s shoulder- “ _look_ at his manners… Such a gentleman, you just don’t see many polite, young people these days.” 

She goes off presumably to give their order to the cook, who having seen Faith come in is now looking intensely worried, like he’s not sure he’s stocked enough food to feed both her and the mysterious hunk of leather following her like a dark cloud of ill omen. 

“So,” Faith turns to her nephew, “do you have any plans today?” 

“No,” Derek looks wary. “You?” 

“I do. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Faith nods before reaching into her jacket and digging out her phone. The map that she’d downloaded yesterday is up on the screen, with the directions bolded out and easily marked. 

Derek furrows his brows and one of the caterpillars comes perilously close to being consumed by its more aggressive neighbour. Faith has to stifle the urge to poke at them, maybe offer her services with a tweezer. Derek’s probably not the type to appreciate being groomed this early in the morning, or you know, _ever_. 

“This is in Mylena,” Derek says after a moment of scanning the map, “it’s a township about an hour away.” 

“Huh,” Faith raises an eyebrow and takes her phone back, “I don’t suppose you’d know this Mylena better than my GPS?” 

The rental’s shitty GPS had practically cackled with incredulity at her when Faith had put in the coordinates of the place. It’s been a while since she’s needed to work with normal, Council-unenhanced technology and she’s forgotten how frustrating it can be. 

“I used to have baseball tournaments in Mylena,” Derek says with a note of wistfulness at the end, “it’s a pretty small place. What do you need there?” 

That’s the question of the day isn’t it? 

“Just a couple of small things,” Faith shrugs before giving Derek a small grin, “but you should come with me. The kids are still in school and I’m betting that there’s only so much of uncle-Dearest you can take before you want to strangle him. We’ll make a day out of it, just you and me.” 

A slow, shy smile spreads on Derek’s face. A real one, not one of the ones the small smirks that Faith had seen him throw about with his pack during training, it makes him look young and vulnerable and damn it all to shreds, an even larger part of Faith breaks off and attaches itself to this kid. 

“I’d like that,” Derek says quietly. 

Sheila descends on them so suddenly that even Faith jumps, startled at the woman’s ninja movements especially with the pot of coffee in her hand. 

“Here,” Faith takes it out of her hands, “why don’t you let me do this while you get the food?” 

She pours coffee into their cups quickly, with efficient movements. Adds the two spoons of sugar to Derek’s cup, stirs and then slides it over to him- “I got it right?” 

She’s smelled the black coffee and sugar on him before. 

“Yeah,” Derek nods quietly, “you did.” 

Faith makes her own coffee but keeps a subtle eye on the kid. 

The thing about Derek is that he has so many triggers, so many hidden buttons that it can get pretty freaking terrifying trying not to screw his shit up. 

When Sheila starts bringing their food over, Faith takes Derek’s silence as the go-ahead to start divvying up their plates. So used to travelling with unruly teenage slayers, it’s almost second nature for her to arrange their utensils and slide the condiment stand over and so she does. Obviously, there’s all sorts of trauma at the table and they’ll have to take it slow eventually but right now she’s hungry, and from what she knows of werewolves, Faith’s pretty damn sure that Derek’s hungry as well. 

Weres usually always are. 

Derek, this time, looks a little amused but obligingly leans back and lets Faith slide his food and coffee forward. 

“Sorry,” Faith has to shake her head, a little horrified by just how freaking _old_ this makes her feel. “Force of habit. If I don’t make the baby slayers eat every couple of hours, they just end up devouring everything in their path later on.” 

Derek smiles. A small thing on his otherwise impassive face, a tiny curl to his lip and a pleased duck of his head. 

“You just remind me of someone,” he rumbles into the table, long lashes making sweeping shadows on his cheeks, “she was just as bossy as you are.” 

Oh. 

Faith swallows the pancake that’s somehow become a lump in her throat. “Well,” she says slowly and with forced nonchalance, “I’m going to guess that she _had_ to be.” She reaches over and slides some more bacon on Derek’s plate, “You’ve _gotta_ eat kid, wolfy metabolism means not having to worry about calories.”

Derek picks at his food, eats it slowly like he’s trying to prove something to her. There’s a methodical quality to his movements, an easy kind of routine, one that shows years of training rather than something comes naturally to him. He keeps his eyes down. 

Faith rolls up a pancake, rolls her eyes and uses it to mop half the syrup on her plate before layering a piece of bacon on top of the whole concoction and then swallowing it whole. 

“Oh my god,” Derek says awed, “you’re _disgusting_.” Like a little boy discovering something for the first time, he looks suddenly young and carefree and terribly fascinated with the way Faith eats. 

She shrugs, “whatever. I figure once you’ve almost died once or seventeen times, you’ve got the right to do whatever the hell you want.” 

Derek flinches before Faith shoves a pancake at him, which effectively ruins whatever broody mood he’s been wanting to slip into. Turns out that Derek likes the taste of pancakes with bacon too. Except he adds cayenne pepper and ketchup on top. 

It is singularly the most disgusting and glorious thing that Faith has ever seen. She makes sure to tell Derek that and his answering grin is somehow the sweetest and proudest moment between the two of them. It figures that they'd bond over their shared animal appetites. 

 

+

 

Mylena is one of the smallest towns that Faith has ever been to. It probably can’t even be considered a proper town, more of a village with spectacularly active local artisanship. The streets are smaller, lined with trees that sway gently in the wind. There are families out, couples and small children running back and forth- it’s like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting come to life. 

It’s perfect. 

It’s also saturated with magic. 

“Tingles,” Faith glances at Derek, “don’t it?” 

He looks preoccupied watching the scenery go them by, “what kind of magic is it?” His eyes are troubled, worried, uncertain- “I’ve never felt it before.” 

“You wouldn’t have, it’s nothing like what you’re used to. It’s not earth magic, they’re not pulling from the elements.” 

“I’ve been around magic wielders before,” Derek says thoughtfully, “in New York. They weren’t like this. This feels,” he pauses, “ _blocked_. Like there’s something between the magic and them.” 

That’s a smart observation. For a kid that’s made it a pattern to wear the black leather and lurk ominously as much as possible, Derek’s quick, catches things on the fly. She’s abruptly reminded of herself at his age, just finished with prison and still clinging to old habits like a stalled record. Poor Robin never stood a chance. 

Faith feels proud of him again, “that’s exactly what it is. They’re not like the witches you’re used to, they can’t call on their magic- they need a conduit.” 

Derek frowns, “a conduit?” 

“They’re stick wielders,” Faith grins lewdly, “they use their _wands_.” There’ve been many a conversation with precisely this topic in mind back at Council Headquarters, and Faith’s never been shy about showing her level of maturity by consistently and constantly making fun of the wizards’ wand-waving. While wand wielders are inherently strong and do possess a great deal of raw magical strength, their main weakness is that without their conduits- they’re akin to disarmed soldiers. Still capable of producing damage, but not nearly as much as they would with their weapons. 

Derek shakes his head, “I fear to think of you as a leader-type for an army of supernaturally powered girls.” 

“Oh no,” Faith shakes her head with a bright smile. She’s spotted the familiar sign up ahead and turns at the light easily, “I’m not the leader. That’s Buffy. I’m just the hired muscle and occasional source of unhelpful sexual tension.” Years after her first arrival in Sunnydale, after her whole rebellion against the law and her failed competition with Buffy, she’s finally comfortable enough to joke about her position within the council and it just freaking figures that the only person around her can’t appreciate it.

What good is personal growth without a grateful audience?

“How do you know them?” Derek follows her out of the car. 

“I know _of_ them,” Faith says brightly, “I just know the one guy. There’s only the one that runs this place, but he can be a little bit of a stick in the mud type.Try not to growl too much at him, he’s had a bad experience with werewolves.” 

‘ _Lily’s_ ’ has the unassuming, local knick-knack shop look to it on the outside with some pretty heavy ‘keep away’ wards for the normal folk. The inside, as soon as they step in is shrouded in shadows and it smells of herbs, cauldron fires and funnily enough Windex. 

Faith can feel Derek’s curiosity about to ask her about _who_ exactly they’re here to visit and just what he knows about werewolves when the wall of magic slams into Derek, incapacitates him and literally leaves him hanging, suspended in the doorway of the shop, struggling against invisible bonds and fruitlessly trying to snap his teeth at the dark shape that’s unfolding from the chair, from where he’d been blending seamlessly into the shadows and _stalk_ towards them. 

Goddamn drama queen. 

“Well, well, well-“ the man’s voice sounds like once upon a time, he could have done serious work as a voice actor before somebody tried to garrotte him. “A _werewolf_ ,” he has a hook nose, black hair hanging about his face in a curtain and a sneer that would put Peter’s to shame, “haven’t seen one of those in a good, long while. Wasn’t particularly looking to see one _again_ ” His black, fathomless eyes are just as disconcerting as they were ten years ago when he had fallen out of a portal in Cleveland, naked as the day he was born, bleeding from anaconda bites and screaming. 

“Oh calm down Sev,” Faith rolls her eyes and pokes him, right where she’s calculated his ribs to be. It’s _hard_ to tell under all the robes and what she and Buffy have privately been referring to as his bondage gear, ten billion metal clasps and all. “That’s my nephew, let him down.” 

“Lehane,” Sev turns to her with an impressive amount of bile. “It’s _never_ a pleasure.” 

Behind him, Derek oomphs loudly as he falls from thin air before jumping into a crouch and trying to throw off any awkwardness. He looks like a grumpy cat, all offended eyebrows and a petulant tilt to his mouth that turns dangerous as he spots the wand in Sev’s left hand. 

“Still sore about that weekend in Prague, huh?” Faith tsks under her tongue, shooting Derek a warning look. 

“I have no recollection of what you speak of and wish to forego this line of questioning any further,” Sev says with great dignity before swirling in a particularly dramatic way, he must have been _practicing_ and walking behind the counter. “What do you want Miss Lehane? I trust,” he swallows, “the Council is in fine affairs.” 

Both of them know exactly who he’s asking after and Faith, after shooting Sev a small smile nods her head. “We’re all good. Don’t worry.” 

Sev breathes out a little deeper, a difference that wouldn’t have been noticed by a normal human but one that Faith takes immediate note of. From the interested tilt of Derek’s shoulders, he’s probably heard it too. 

“Not that it isn’t scintillating as usual,” Sev begins again, with much less abject hatred in his voice and a lot more of what Faith’s taken to calling his own version of warmth, “seeing you in one of my establishments, but I must confess that I had been engaged in something important in Paris when the portkey activated.” 

After the last time, when an hour of precious time had been wasted in trying to track Sev down with the help of a novice witch and an apocalypse that had started to look more and more dangerous- he had made a series of portkeys that he now constantly wore around his neck. Both for his own sake and theirs, as a means of immediate transportation and for the sake of his security. He’d be transported to any of the shops that any top member of the Council would be visiting and, if activated with his blood, the portkeys would take him to the Cleveland Headquarters immediately. 

“I need vervain amulets,” Faith says seriously and slides a black credit card across the counter, “and I need them posthaste. Modified for werewolves, slayers and humans.” 

Sev turns all business, opening one of his inventory journals- “fresh or ground?” 

“Fresh. The more potent the better,” Faith says, watching Derek tense. 

Derek’s jaw clenches as he visibly fights with himself before deciding to ignore Sev’s lurking form and turning to face her, “what exactly do you think is going to happen? Besides the alpha pack, I mean.” 

That’s the real question isn’t it. A simple one. What’s about to happen? The answer though, is the least simple thing of all. 

“Some very bad men have been trying to find the source of alpha werewolves’ power for the last three years. They’ve been targeting alpha packs especially, going for new, untested alphas- kids that haven’t been taught or trained properly.”

Derek looks _pissed_ , “and you think they’re coming to Beacon Hills?” 

Faith thinks of the spark in his bright blue eyes as he stood over her, watched the knife rise and fall with her broken breathing, shattered ribs trying to heal around the obstruction in her chest- ‘ _I’m as evil as they come_ ’, he had said. 

It’s only taken her this long to really believe him. 

“Yeah,” Faith takes a deep breath and reaches for Derek’s wrist, grips it tight and smiles grimly, “they’re coming here to kill us. We’re going to kill them first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come play on tumblr: I'm Shulik1 there. 
> 
> I post upcoming snippets of stories/ photosets of the universes I've created, spoilers for stories, I post about gay wolves, gay angels, kick-ass ladies, my love for hip hop and my love of amazing people.
> 
> Also, if you understood the next crossover reference- gold cookie for you. Come talk to me about how amazing this is going to get.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'm on Tumblr- shulik1. I welcome all who aren't easily startled, that like writing, art, fanfic, gay wolves, gay angels, hip hop. Everything and anything. 
> 
> Also, I post snippets of upcoming chapters, talk about writing difficulties and talk about my original work. 
> 
> I love people and I talk too much in any medium.


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